Divorced Mom Renovates Old House with Her Kids to Start a New Life – What They Found Inside…

Through the Storm

They spent the next hour battling increasingly heavy rain and wind, working to protect the exposed portions of the roof. By the time they finished, both were soaked to the skin.

“You should head home,” Rebecca told Daniel as they stood dripping in the entryway. “It’s getting bad out there.”

As if in response, a crack of thunder shook the house, followed by the lights flickering once, twice, then going out completely. Noah appeared from the kitchen, flashlight already in hand.

“Power’s out, Mom.”

“Perfect,” Rebecca muttered. “Just perfect.”

“I’ll check the breaker box before I go,” Daniel offered, accepting the flashlight from Noah.

“Where’s your sister?” Rebecca asked, peeling off her wet jacket.

Noah shrugged.

“Upstairs with her headphones, probably.”

Rebecca made her way carefully up the stairs in the dim light.

“Sophie, we’ve lost power.”

No response came from behind Sophie’s closed door. Rebecca knocked, then pushed it open to find the room empty.

Frowning, she checked the bathroom and the other bedrooms before returning downstairs.

“She’s not up there,” Rebecca told Noah, trying to keep the worry from her voice. “Did she say she was going somewhere?”

Noah shook his head.

“I haven’t seen her since lunch.”

A cold feeling settled in Rebecca’s stomach.

“Sophie!” she called, moving from room to room. “Sophie, where are you?”

Daniel returned from the basement.

“Breaker’s fine. It’s a neighborhood outage, but we’ve got another problem. There’s water coming in from somewhere. The basement’s starting to flood.”

Rebecca barely registered his words.

“Sophie’s missing. She’s not in the house.”

“Maybe she’s in the treehouse,” Noah suggested.

“In this storm?” But even as Rebecca questioned it, she was already moving toward the back door.

It would be just like Sophie to retreat to the half-renovated treehouse, heedless of the weather. The three of them ventured into the downpour, calling Sophie’s name.

The treehouse was empty, leaves and rain blowing through its open window frame.

“Could she have gone to a friend’s house?” Daniel asked, having to shout over the wind.

“She doesn’t have any friends here yet,” Rebecca replied, panic rising in her throat. “She’s made that abundantly clear.”

They retreated inside, all of them now drenched. Rebecca grabbed her phone, finding it down to 20% battery.

“I’m calling the police.”

Just as she was about to dial, the front door burst open and Sophie stumbled in, soaking wet and mud-spattered.

“Sophie!” Rebecca rushed to her. “Where were you? We were worried sick!”

Sophie’s face was tear-streaked beneath the rain.

“I just needed to get out, okay? This house was suffocating me!”

“In the middle of a storm? What were you thinking?” Relief was rapidly converting to anger in Rebecca’s voice.

“I was at the library! I just lost track of time and then it started raining and my phone died!”

Sophie pulled away from Rebecca’s reach.

“Stop treating me like I’m a child!”

“You’re fourteen, Sophie! You are a child, and you can’t just disappear without telling anyone where you’re going!”

“Like you told us before you decided to move us to this dump? Like you told us before you and Dad decided to get divorced?” Sophie’s voice cracked. “You make all these decisions that ruin our lives, then act like I’m the irresponsible one!”

Rebecca reeled as if she’d been slapped. The accusation stung all the more because part of her feared it was true.

“Sophie, that’s not fair to your mom,” Daniel interjected gently.

“Stay out of it!” Sophie snapped. “You’re not part of this family!”

“Sophie Taylor!” Rebecca admonished. “Apologize right now!”

“Why should I? It’s the truth! He’s just some guy you hired who probably feels sorry for us!”

Sophie stormed past them toward the stairs.

“I hate this house! I hate this town! And I hate what our family has become!”

Her bedroom door slammed, the sound reverberating through the half-demolished house. An uncomfortable silence fell, broken only by the steady drip of water from multiple leaks that had sprung up during the storm.

“I’m sorry about that,” Rebecca finally said to Daniel, mortification heating her cheeks.

“Don’t be,” he replied. “Teenagers plus divorce plus renovation? That’s a lot for anyone to handle.”

Noah stood awkwardly nearby, eyes wide and worried.

“Is Sophie going to be okay?”

Rebecca put an arm around his shoulders.

“She will be. We all will. It’s just a rough patch.”

“Speaking of rough patches,” Daniel said, “we should check on that basement flooding before it gets worse.”

Rock Bottom

The basement revealed the full extent of the storm’s damage. Water was seeping in through the foundation walls and pooling several inches deep on the concrete floor.

The ancient water heater stood in the growing puddle, making ominous popping sounds.

“This isn’t good,” Daniel said, wading through the water to examine the heater. “We need to shut this off before it shorts out completely.”

As they worked to mitigate the flooding, bringing buckets, towels, and the shop vacuum Daniel had left on-site, Rebecca felt a crushing weight of defeat pressing down on her. The house seemed to be fighting back against their renovation efforts, revealing new problems faster than they could solve the old ones.

By midnight, the storm had finally passed, though the power remained out. Daniel had stayed to help with emergency measures, but the damage was significant.

Water had seeped up through the floorboards in several downstairs rooms, the newly exposed wooden subfloor now warped and stained.

“We’ll assess everything in daylight,” Daniel said as he prepared to leave. “It might look better once things dry out.”

But they both knew he was being optimistic. After he left, Rebecca sat alone in the dark kitchen, a battery-powered lantern casting long shadows on the walls.

Noah had finally fallen asleep, and Sophie remained barricaded in her room. The house creaked and settled around her, water still dripping from somewhere into a pot she’d placed on the floor.

She pulled out her phone, now plugged into her laptop for charging, and opened the camera roll. Scrolling back, she found photos from their previous life: the spacious suburban home with its perfect lawn, the kids smiling at birthday parties, family vacations with her now ex-husband.

They looked happy, untroubled. Had it all been an illusion?

On impulse, she opened Instagram and began typing: “Tonight, our renovation hit rock bottom. Literally. Our basement is flooded, the power is out, and my teenage daughter just told me she hates everything about our new life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Is trying to save this old house just another way of avoiding the truth that some things can’t be fixed?”

Her finger hovered over the post button. Was she really going to share this vulnerability with strangers?

With a deep breath, she pressed post, then set the phone aside.

A Breakthrough in the Mud

Morning arrived with weak sunlight filtering through windows still streaked with yesterday’s rain. Rebecca had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, her neck stiff and aching.

The power was still out, and the house felt damp and colder than before. She made her way to the basement stairs, dreading what she would find.

The water level had receded slightly, but left behind a layer of silt and debris. The water heater was definitely dead—another major expense she hadn’t budgeted for.

As she stood surveying the damage, footsteps approached behind her.

“Is it bad?”

Sophie’s voice was quiet, all the anger from the previous night drained away. Rebecca turned to find her daughter standing on the stairs, looking small and uncertain in her oversized sweater.

“It’s not great,” she admitted, “but it’s fixable.”

Sophie nodded, coming to stand beside her mother.

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Rebecca put an arm around her shoulders, surprised when Sophie didn’t pull away.

“Some of what you said was true. I did make decisions that affected your life without giving you much choice.”

“I’m sorry for that part. You didn’t choose the divorce, though, did you?” Sophie asked, her voice small. “Dad did, because of her.”

Rebecca hesitated. She’d been careful not to vilify her ex-husband to the children, even when his affair with his much younger colleague had been the catalyst for their split.

“Relationships are complicated, Sophie. But no, I didn’t choose for our family to break up.”

Sophie leaned against her mother slightly.

“I don’t really hate it here. Not all of it, anyway.”

“No?” Rebecca smiled faintly. “What parts don’t you hate?”

“The drawings on my wall. Mrs. Wilson. The way you can see so many stars at night.” She paused. “The treehouse has potential, too, I guess.”

It wasn’t much, but it felt like a significant peace offering.

“What are we going to do about all this?” Sophie gestured at the flooded basement.

Rebecca took a deep breath.

“First, we’re going to have breakfast. Then we’re going to make a list, and then we’re going to figure it out, one problem at a time.”

As they turned to head back upstairs, Rebecca’s phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced down to see dozens of responses to her late-night Instagram post—messages of encouragement, advice about flood damage, and even offers of help from local followers who recognized the Wilson house.

One comment in particular caught her eye: “Every renovation has a moment when you want to give up. That’s usually right before the breakthrough. Hang in there. — Evelyn W.”

Mrs. Wilson was on Instagram? Rebecca hadn’t even known the elderly woman owned a computer.

The simple message brought tears to her eyes, not of despair this time, but of gratitude. Perhaps they weren’t as alone in this as she’d feared.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, noticing her mother’s expression.

Rebecca showed her the phone.

“It seems we have more support than I realized.”