My husband Mark and I have a blended family with my daughter Lily and his daughter Daisy. Just before school began, my stepdaughter’s interview “The Pain of a Broken Home” went viral. When Daisy moved in, I tried to make her feel welcome—moving Lily’s desk to the living room so Daisy could use the larger one in the spare room, buying her two sets of school supplies in her favorite colors like Lily’s, and ignoring my daughter’s complaints. A week before school, a news crew filmed a “Youth Development” piece. Daisy eagerly joined. On camera, she said tearfully, “I have to study in the spare room because my stepmom says the living room is for my sister. She gets new supplies—I’m told mine are fine.” When it aired, #EvilStepmother exploded. We were doxxed; strangers gathered outside shouting insults. Lily was bullied at school. Once, while picking up Daisy, a crowd shoved me down the stairs. Hurt, I heard Daisy whisper, “Sorry, Sophie… they were defending me.” I opened my eyes and was back to when Mark dropped Daisy’s suitcase in the entryway. He was usually meticulous, but neglectful with his own daughter. As Daisy bent to change shoes, I saw the calculating look in her eyes and smiled slowly. So this was the “pain of a broken home” you meant? Fine. This time, I’ll let you learn what it truly feels like to suffocate. 1 In the entryway, my husband Mark tossed Daisy’s suitcase on the floor and turned to me with a warm smile. "I passed by the market and picked up some grapes, your favorite. Where’s Lily? Tell her to come have some." Daisy stood frozen by the door, clutching the hem of her shirt, her small frame curled in on itself. In my last life, that pitiful act was all it took to fool me. She was just a child, I’d thought. Her parents’ divorce was hard enough; she shouldn't have to bear the weight of adult resentments. So I had rushed over, setting her suitcase upright and carrying it inside for her. Worried she’d feel uncomfortable being around us all the time, I moved Lily’s desk out of the spare room and into the living room, giving Daisy the bigger, better space. Even when Lily pouted that I was playing favorites, I had just smiled and soothed her, "Her sister just got here, sweetie. We have to take good care of her." I bought two sets of stationery in Daisy’s favorite lavender. I gave her Lily's nightlight. I woke up early to make her a special lunch for school. Mark had even teased me, "You care more about Daisy than you do your own daughter." And what did I get for it? In that interview, she’d looked into the camera with red-rimmed eyes and lied. "Every day after school, I have to hide in a tiny corner of the spare room to do my homework. My stepmom always says the living room is my sister’s special place, and that I’d be rude to go in there." "And the school supplies… she tells me to make do with my old things, but my sister gets to go to school with brand new stuff. And then she accuses me of being jealous and trying to compete with her." "All I want is a few new pens and a decent place to study. Is that really too much to ask? I just don't understand why she treats me so differently." The trending hashtag, #ThePainOfABrokenHome, had crushed me. Strangers at my door, my daughter ostracized at school. I was pushed down a flight of stairs and left to die, and Daisy never showed a shred of remorse. A chill ran down my spine. I looked at Daisy now, but the familiar pang of pity in my heart was gone. Mark brought out the grapes and called for the girls. Lily came bouncing out and asked, "Isn't my sister having any?" Daisy looked up at me, her eyes pleading, expecting me to pull her over like I always did. I didn't move. Mark peeled a grape and fed it to me. Lily pointed at the fallen suitcase. "Daddy, Daisy’s suitcase fell over." "She can pick it up herself. She’s old enough to handle something that simple, isn't she?" Mark went back to peeling grapes for me, completely ignoring Daisy's humiliation. In my past life, I always tried to make up for Mark's coldness toward her, thinking of us as a team. In the end, I, the one with no blood ties to her, became the one who owed her everything. Daisy’s shoulders slumped, her eyes turning red. I finally spoke, my voice flat. "Listen to your father. He’s just trying to teach you to be responsible." Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. Mark paused, then chuckled and ruffled my hair. "See? You get me. She needs to learn to do things for herself." I watched Daisy struggle to right the heavy suitcase, her knuckles white. This time, I wouldn't pay for her sob story. My only job was to protect myself and Lily. "Daddy, more grapes, please," Lily chirped, pulling me back to the present. I took a grape from Mark and gave it to her, the warmth returning to my eyes. 2 Daisy finally got the suitcase up, her fingers leaving red marks on the handle. She probably never expected me, the always-smiling stepmom, to watch her struggle, and she certainly never expected her own father to tell her to do it herself. I ignored her, leading Lily into the living room and deliberately raising my voice. "Lily, we’re going shopping for school supplies tomorrow. What color do you want? Pink or blue? Mommy will get you the newest imported binders." Lily's eyes lit up. "Pink! And I want the highlighters with the little strawberries on them!" "You got it," I said, smiling as I stroked her hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daisy’s shoulders slump even further. She was still frozen in the entryway. Last time, I had specifically asked for her favorite color and bought two lavender sets of everything, right down to the matching pencil cases. And in return, she told her friends, "My stepmom only buys the good stuff for her real daughter. I just get the leftovers." This time, I wasn’t going to waste my energy on such a thankless task. If she wanted something, I wasn’t the person she should be asking. Mark finished his grapes and wiped his hands, finally remembering his daughter. "Daisy, your room is the guest room. Go get yourself unpacked. Oh, and about your school supplies—have your mother get them for you. I've been so busy lately, I forgot to ask her about it." The words were like a needle, and Daisy’s head shot up. Her mother had moved out of state after the divorce and hadn't called once, let alone sent money for child support. Mark knew this perfectly well, but he deliberately pushed the responsibility onto her. I pretended not to notice her discomfort and added, "That’s right. Your mother dotes on you. I'm sure she'll get you the very best." Daisy's lips parted as if to say something, but she swallowed the words. She gripped the handle of her suitcase and slowly trudged to the guest room, closing the door so softly it was almost silent. But I heard it. It wasn't the sound of sorrow. It was the sound of simmering resentment. The next afternoon, Lily and I returned from the stationery store. As we walked in, we saw Daisy sitting on the sofa, clutching a worn-out pencil case, her eyes red and puffy. Mark sat beside her, looking annoyed. "What's wrong?" I asked, placing Lily’s new pencil case on the coffee table. The pink strawberry pattern was bright and cheerful. Mark didn't answer, but Daisy spoke up, her voice thick with tears. "Sophie… my mom said… she said she doesn’t have any money right now and told me to just use my old supplies from last year. But they’re almost all used up, and I need to take notes for my classes…" She looked at me as she spoke, that familiar, pleading look in her eyes. This time, I said nothing. Mark cut her off with a frown. "What’s wrong with old supplies? When I was in school, I wrote on the back of the page when the front was full. When a pen ran out of ink, I just replaced the cartridge. It didn't stop me from getting into college." Daisy stared at him, stunned. She clearly hadn’t expected her own father to say something like that. Her mouth opened, tears trembling on her lashes. "But Dad… the teachers specifically said we need new notebooks for the new semester…" "The teachers can say whatever they want. You know our financial situation, don't you?" Mark's tone grew colder. "If your mother says she doesn’t have the money, then you’ll have to make do. She’s already skipping out on child support; the least she can do is buy you some damn school supplies." At his words, the color drained from Daisy’s face. Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her anymore; of course she wouldn’t send money for notebooks. But Daisy couldn’t say that out loud. Admitting it would be admitting she’d been abandoned. She gripped the old pencil case tighter, tears shimmering in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Lily looked from Daisy to me and whispered, "Mommy, I have two highlighters. Should I give one to my sister?" I squeezed Lily's cheek and shook my head with a smile. "Mommy bought your school supplies with her own money, not from the family savings. If your sister wants new things, she can either ask your dad to buy them, or she can ask her mom for the money." Daisy shot up from the sofa, grabbed her old pencil case, and stormed into the guest room, slamming the door behind her. I stared at the closed door, my expression calm. She always talked about the pain of a broken home, but I was never the source of that pain. It was her mother who abandoned her and her father who pretended not to notice. Why should I rush in to take the blame, only to be branded an evil stepmother without so much as a thank you? 3 Three days before the start of school, there was a parent-teacher conference. Mark claimed he had a work emergency and asked me to go. I agreed, but not before calling the teacher and explaining that Mark was primarily responsible for Daisy's education, and that he should be the first point of contact for any issues. When I arrived at the classroom and sat in Lily's seat, I overheard two parents whispering nearby. "See her? That's Daisy's stepmom. I heard her parents are divorced and she lives with her dad now." "Yeah, I saw her dad bring her shopping the other day. I’ve never seen her mom around." I said nothing. I knew the truth. No matter how much good I did, in their eyes, I would always be the villain. And her actual parents, the ones who neglected her, could hide in the shadows, completely blameless. Halfway through the meeting, the teacher made an announcement. "After the semester begins, the school is organizing a trip to visit some elite universities on the East Coast. The students will get to tour the campuses and attend lectures by top professors. It's an incredible opportunity for their academic growth. The fee is five thousand dollars per student, and we need confirmation and payment today. Spots are limited, so please decide quickly." After the conference, I was walking out of the classroom when Daisy ran up and blocked my path. "Sophie," she began, her head bowed. "The fee for the trip… My mom said she doesn’t have the money and told me to ask you…" Her voice was small, but it held a hint of certainty. She was sure I’d give in. I didn't give her the satisfaction. Instead, I pulled out my phone, dialed Mark, and put him on speaker. "Honey, the teacher just announced a university tour that costs five thousand dollars per person. Daisy says her mom won’t pay. What should we do?" There was a pause on the other end, and then Mark’s voice turned cold. "Tell her to talk to her mother herself! She’s not paying child support, and now she can't even cough up the money for a school trip?" His voice grew louder. "Either her mom transfers the money today, or she doesn't go. I'm not going to foot the bill for everything and do her mother's job for her." As his voice echoed from the phone, the color drained from Daisy’s face. She clutched the hem of her shirt, and a tear finally rolled down her cheek. "Dad… Mom really doesn’t have the money… and the teacher said it’s due today…" "Then she needs to figure it out!" Mark snapped. "If you can't even handle something like this, how are you going to get through college? Solve your own problems, Daisy. Stop expecting other people to do it for you!" With that, Mark hung up. Daisy stood frozen, tears streaming down her face. I put my phone away, my voice neutral. "You heard your father. It's not that I don't want to help, but things are really tight for us right now. Between tuition for both of you and the mortgage last month, there’s not much left. I honestly don't have five thousand dollars for this trip. You should really try calling your mom again, or maybe talk to your dad when he’s in a better mood." Her head shot up, her eyes filled with shock and betrayal. "Sophie, can't you just help me this one time? Just once…" "Help you?" I looked at her, my gaze steady. In my last life, I helped her with everything. I moved her desk, bought her supplies, paid her fees. I made sure she had everything Lily had, and more. I worried about her teenage pride, coddled her, tiptoed around her feelings so she would never feel left out. And what was my reward? She called me a monster on television. Strangers screamed at me in the street. My daughter lost her mother. "Daisy, don't look at me like that. There is truly nothing I can do. You need to talk to your parents. Don't stand here bothering me. I have my own daughter to raise." Daisy froze, and her tears abruptly stopped. 4 It was probably the first time anyone had ever laid her parents’ indifference out so plainly before her. I didn’t look at her again. I turned and walked toward the school gate. Behind me, Daisy remained rooted to the spot, clutching her empty, worn-out pencil case like an abandoned child. I knew this was only the beginning. In this life, I would make her see with her own two eyes who was truly responsible for the pain of her broken home. Who was it that made her beg for a new pen or a clean notebook? It wasn't me, her evil stepmother. It was her own parents, the ones who did nothing but shift the blame. She had hated the wrong person. And she had taken her revenge on the wrong person. When I got home, Lily was at the living room desk, happily unpacking her new stationery. The pink and white binder was open, and she had used a strawberry-scented highlighter to draw a wobbly smiley face on a piece of paper. Seeing me, she held up the pen. "Mommy, this pen writes in a sweet color!" I walked over and stroked her hair. I noticed the guest room door was slightly ajar, but there was no sound from within. Daisy was probably still stewing over the trip fee. Or perhaps she was staring at her old pencil case, plotting her next sob story. That evening, Mark came home on time for once, bringing a new toy car for Lily. Daisy sat across the dinner table, pushing rice around her bowl, her eyes darting toward the toy every few seconds. Last time, seeing that look, I would have made Lily share. This time, I didn't say a word. Mark acted as if he didn't even see his own daughter's disappointment. He was too busy putting food on Lily’s plate. "It's the weekend tomorrow. How about Daddy takes you to the amusement park?" Lily cheered. Daisy suddenly put down her chopsticks, her voice laced with a carefully concealed bitterness. "Dad, school starts the day after tomorrow, and the strap on my backpack is broken. Can you…" Before she could finish, Mark frowned. "If it's broken, sew it yourself. The backpack I used in school lasted three years. I patched it up five times and it worked just fine. If you really don’t want to use it, ask your mom for a new one. Surely she can afford to buy you a backpack?" There it was again. That same refrain. Daisy’s face flushed a deep red, her knuckles white as she gripped her chopsticks. She couldn't understand why her father, who had always been at least civil to her, had suddenly changed, deflecting every request back to the mother who had long since vanished from her life. I kept my head down, sipping my soup, pretending not to see the hatred brewing in her eyes. She was pitiable, yes. But my daughter deserved to have her mother. I would not sacrifice Lily's well-being for Daisy’s sake ever again. Her pain was for the people who caused it to bear. But Daisy clearly didn't see it that way. She suddenly slammed her chopsticks on the table, her eyes burning with pure hatred as she stared at me. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're the one who turned my dad against me, who told him not to pay for my trip! I'm going to the media! I'll expose you for child abuse and see how you can show your face in public then!"
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