My grandmother panicked the moment Mom passed. She was terrified my stepfather would leave now that Mom was gone.
She yanked me by the ear and spat venom in my face.
“You cursed your own father to death, and now your mother too! Starting tomorrow, forget school. I’m not paying a cent for you to study. Go get a job!”
I bawled like a terrified kid, which, truthfully, I was. Deep down, I thought the same thing she did, that without my mom, my stepfather would toss me aside.
But he didn’t.
Not only did he keep treating me the same, he became even more attentive, as if he wanted to make up for what I’d lost.
My aunt, however, had other ideas. She wanted to marry him and become my stepmother. She even said she could give him a son.
But my father only got furious.
“Even if Mirabelle’s mother is gone, I will never remarry. She’s the only daughter I’ll ever have in my life!”
People were touched by his words. Many said my mom was lucky to have married a man like him.
I, too, cried, vowing to work twice as hard, to get into a good college, and take care of him for the rest of my life.
But now, here I was, finally accepted into university, asking to cut all ties with him.
Grandma and my aunt weren’t done scolding me. Grandma, flustered, even slapped me across the face. They couldn’t understand why I’d do something like this when my father and I had always been close.
They both ganged up on me, demanding answers.
“Mirabelle, have you lost your mind? Why on earth would you want to cut ties with your father? And don’t give me that nonsense about the fish. Drop the riddles!”
Yet I stayed silent.
My father looked at me, saw I wasn’t budging, and sighed, his expression pained.
“I bought you an apartment near your school. Even if you won’t be my daughter anymore, you still need somewhere to live. Stay there.”
He then handed me the keys. I hesitated for a moment, but then took them.
My aunt let out a cold laugh. “So you’re cutting ties, but still taking his house? Impressive.”
My father’s face darkened. “That’s between me and my daughter. Stay out of it.”
I gave a short, humorless laugh, still holding the keys in my hand.
My aunt had long since cast herself in the role of my future stepmother, imagining she’d give my father a son one day. In her mind, every cent I spent now was money stolen from that imaginary child.
As my “stepmother-in-waiting,” she nitpicked everything I did, every single day.