She died when I was 9. Breast cancer. It was fast and unfair. One day, she was rushing me to soccer practice in her beat-up Subaru, and a few months later, I was standing by her hospital bed, holding her cold hand and trying not to cry because she told me I needed to be strong.
Before she passed, she set up a $25,000 trust to be given to me when I turned 18. One night, she whispered, “Use it for college, or your first place, or something that makes you proud. That money is for you, baby.”
My dad was there too, nodding in agreement. He promised he’d protect it.
I believed him. Back then, I still trusted people.
For a while, it was just me and Dad. He worked a lot, but he tried. I could tell he was hurting too, but he always made time for my science fairs or to drive me to sleepovers.
Then, when I was about 11, he met Tracy, and everything changed.
A senior couple smiling together | Source: Pexels
Tracy had a smile that made people think she was warm. She knew exactly what to say, always complimenting my hair, asking about school, and bringing over brownies. She played the “sweet, caring future stepmom” card like she was born for it.
Leave a Comment