It turns out my stepdaughter had deliberately given my son the cake to “teach us a lesson.”

I looked around for her immediately, but by the time I realized what had happened, she was already gone.

Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to administer an EpiPen to my son, and after a few hours, he started to show signs of recovery.

But I was furious. I immediately told my husband that I never wanted to see his daughter again. He tried to justify her actions, claiming she was just a teenager who didn’t fully grasp how serious her behavior was.

He assured me that he had already spoken to her and that she was sorry, asking me to forgive her. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My trust in her had been shattered.

At 2 a.m. that night, I woke up to an empty bed. My husband wasn’t beside me, which was strange. Then I heard a scream from our 7-year-old son’s room. My heart sank.

I ran to his room, only to stop dead in my tracks at the sight before me.

My son was lying on the floor, covered in chocolate, looking terribly sick and pale. I could barely recognize him. Beside him was a large chocolate cake with peanuts mixed in—something I had always been vigilant about keeping away from him. He has a severe peanut allergy, and we’ve always made sure to avoid any food that could trigger it.

I was in a complete panic. My son was having an allergic reaction, and I needed to act fast. I ran to grab another EpiPen and administered it as quickly as I could, but it was clear that the situation was serious.

My mind raced back to the earlier incident when I found out what had happened. The cake my stepdaughter had given him wasn’t an accident—it was a deliberate attempt to cause harm. She knew exactly what she was doing.

I couldn’t believe that someone who I had trusted as part of my family would do something so cruel. The feeling of betrayal was overwhelming, and my heart broke knowing that my child had been put in danger by someone I should have been able to trust.

After what seemed like an eternity, my son started to recover, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. But the anger and the fear I felt in that moment would stay with me for a long time.

When my husband returned to the room, I didn’t even want to look at him. I was furious. I had made it clear before that I wanted nothing to do with his daughter after what she had done, but it was now even harder to forgive her after this.

I told him I was done, and that I couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay when someone had put my son’s life at risk. He insisted she was just a confused teenager who didn’t understand the consequences of her actions, but how could I accept that after everything?

The night had ended in chaos, and I was left questioning everything. How could she do something so malicious? How could my husband not see the gravity of the situation? I couldn’t find a way to forgive her, and I wasn’t sure I ever would.