The Annoying Stepmom

I never hid my dislike for this awful woman.

I often thought that she was the one who caused my godfather’s death.

There was no real reason for thinking that. Malicious thoughts did not need a reason.

After my godfather died, she immediately turned to my dad.

I knew she wanted to kill him this time.

A week passed since she complained to my dad about me, and my cheek was still swollen.

The bruise on my forehead from when my dad hit me with the dictionary had not healed, and my hatred had not faded either.

My dad was unusually busy that week. He was working hard to make money to keep her happy.

Sometimes, he even stayed out all night.

After that day, she was more careful toward me, even when asking me to eat. If she heard even the smallest sound, like a pen dropping in my room, she would ask if everything was okay.

While my dad was trying to please her, she was trying to win me over.

She asked my dad about what I liked and bought a lot of small cakes. She would quietly bring them to my room, but I would put them in the living room without eating them.

After a few failed attempts, she could not take it anymore. One day at dinner, she awkwardly said, “I didn’t know your dad would get so angry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Her spoon hit the plate, and she added, “Please don’t think badly of me. I’m not that kind of person.”

She picked up some meat and carefully put it in my bowl.

She watched me closely but pretended to act calm as she ate.

What kind of person?

She was evil, had a bad character, used dirty tricks, and had no dignity.

That was exactly the kind of person she was.

I did not want to talk about what she brought up.

So, I slammed my spoon down, went back to my room, and left her awkwardly alone at the table.

I tossed and turned in bed. Every time I turned to one side, my cheek hurt badly. It was like tiny needles were poking at it.

I could not help but start hurting myself by slapping my own face. In my mind, I angrily cursed and hoped the pain would stop. I kept thinking about Scarlett and could not fall asleep until late at night.

So, I got up. In the dim moonlight, I quickly found the key in the corner of the bathroom and unlocked the drawer in my dad’s wardrobe.

In that drawer were all of my dad’s important things: his divorce papers, our health insurance cards, our IDs, and my elementary school diploma.

Most importantly, it held the 20,000 dollars my grandfather left me for college.

I quietly put the money into Scarlett’s coat pocket.

I did not think anyone would see through such a clumsy, childish act of revenge. After all, sneaky actions like this were exactly what you would expect from a scheming woman who enjoyed being a mistress.

She was sound asleep. She lay in the same bed where my dad and mom once slept and was completely at ease.

Three days later, I told my dad, “When school starts, students need health insurance. If they don’t get it through the school, they need to show proof.”

My dad looked at me. He got up, went to the bathroom in his slippers, and then started searching through the wardrobe.

Scarlett was sitting on the couch. She had my dad watch her favorite soap opera with her. When she saw him go to find my health insurance card, she smiled at me.

She stopped peeling the orange, handed it to me, and said, “If the school doesn’t accept the proof, you can just get it done there. I’ll pay for it.”