Stepmother of the Bride

Though I’m only 10 years older than her, Brenda has always called me Mom. When I married her father, I was determined to show her that I would not be the wicked stepmother from a fairy tale. I showered her with gifts, never raised my voice at her (not even when she broke my bottle of Chanel №5), and always gave her my shoulder to cry on when idiot boys broke her heart in high school and college. I cared for and loved her as if she were my own flesh and blood.

Then somewhere along the way, when she grew from a girl to a woman, my love for her changed. I still love her but in a different way. A much more different, much less appropriate way.

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