When my stepmom Diane asked me to be her maid of honor, I hoped we were finally a family. She presented me with a full bill following her promises, charging me for everything. My eyes burned with horror as I stood still.
She didn’t realize my dad was behind her, watching. Ever notice someone being overly nice? Like something dark is hidden?
My stepmother Diane. Her actions on my dad’s wedding day still break my heart. Sweetie, I can’t imagine this wedding without you,” she cooed, squeezing my hand with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Avery, you’ll be my precious assistant. I rely on you most.”
Surprised, I blinked. “Um… okay,” I muttered, nodding.
Diane leaned in, her expensive perfume overwhelming. I’ve always seen something exceptional in you. Something very useful.”
“Useful?”
Her phony chuckle was too loud and unpleasant.
Don’t be worried! You’re fantastic. Organized.
Perfect for wedding planning.”
Her voice chilled me. “I thought you hired a wedding planner?”
Diane remarked, “Professionals cost too much, darling,” folding her arms. “Now you’re family.
Families help, right? Her usage of “family” was chilly and planned, like a knife. College is mine.
I can assist, but not… She interrupted my gentle pushback with a faint smile that signaled disaster. “College? It’s networking, honey, she said.
“Think of this as real-world practice.”
My dad and Diane housed me for two years while I finished school. Throughout that time, she treated me like a transitory guest—polite, aloof, and sometimes nastily nasty when I “messed up” her flawless routines. But now?
She wanted me as maid of honor. “Sure,” I responded, trying to grin through pain. She glowed artificially.
“Oh, honey, I knew you’d agree! We’ll form a terrific team.”
I felt trapped by her exuberance. I mumbled, “A team,” resentful.
“Exactly! Avery, you’ll understand what it means to be part of this family by the end.”
Diane immediately immersed me in dress shopping, cake tastings, and venue visits. The first glimmer of optimism appeared.
Maybe we were finally bonding. Maybe this was her unusual method of approaching. Was horribly incorrect.
The wedding day arrived with false promises, but I was ready. My clothing was lovely. My hair was perfect.
My makeup was great. Diane shone with phony delight. She looked like the happiest bride.
I surprised myself by being glad for her and my dad. After the vows, she muttered, “Thanks for everything, Avery,” as I led her to the bridal room. Her voice was very gentle, almost real.
A modest, hopeful smile. “Just glad I could help.”
She had a glimpse of something raw. It looked like something actual broke her immaculate facade.
“You know,” Diane began, shivering, “I never had a sister. Or a daughter.” Her grip on my arm was nearly clinging. Your absence would have made this harder.
I appreciate it, honey.”
A foolish warmth wave hit me. We’re family! I said gently, meaning.
Her grip tightened, her gaze icy. She shouted, “Family!” like a weapon. “There’s one more thing,” she added sharply, placing a pale pink envelope and a pink rose on the beautiful table.
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