When Lola’s stepmother turns her baby shower into a showcase of Lola’s hard work, the humiliation cuts deep. But just as the room threatens to swallow her whole, an unexpected voice rises, shifting the balance. Family ties crack, secrets simmer, and respect proves more valuable than gifts.
I used to believe that family was the one thing you could trust to remain constant, that family was where you leaned when everything else felt too heavy. But grief changes the ground beneath you.
My mom died when I was 19, and I thought the worst had already happened. I thought nothing could rattle me more than watching her chair sit empty at the table.
I was wrong.
A year later, my dad remarried. His new wife, Melinda, was the same age as me — 20 at the time — and that fact has never stopped making my skin crawl. From the moment she moved in, it felt like I had been forced into a competition I never signed up for.
It’s not simply that we share an age, though that is pretty difficult to swallow. No, the gross part is the way she looks at me as though I’m her rival. It’s in the way she sharpens her voice with little digs when she speaks to me.
She once tilted her head and smiled at me smugly. “Teaching? That’s a cute hobby, Lola,” she said.
“I mean, if you’re into that stuff, I guess.”
It was as if I’d chosen finger painting instead of a rewarding career that shaped young minds. Another time, she swirled cream into her coffee and sighed deeply. “So, still single?” she asked.
“Tick-tock, Lola. Time is running out.”
I remember gripping my mug so hard that day, I thought it would crack in my hands. Whenever I brought it up to my dad, David, he brushed it away with the same tired excuse.
“She’s young, Lola. Immature, sure. But she’s got a good heart.
Maybe Melinda only lets me see that, but you’ll see it too. In time. I promise,” he’d say.
But I kept waiting to see it, and I never did. A few years into their marriage, Melinda became pregnant with her first child, and everything in the house shifted around her. My father was overjoyed and would drop everything he was doing to satisfy Melinda’s cravings.
He splurged on gadgets or luxury items she saw on social media, convincing him that the baby needed them. And he seemed to love having a pregnant 25-year-old wife. “Babies need more these days than we did, honey.
There are gadgets now to make life easier; we should give them the best start,” she’d say. “Sure, darling,” my father would reply. “Whatever you want.
Just send me a list and tell me where to go.”
For a while, I tried to stay out of the way, but when Melinda started planning her baby shower, suddenly I had a role in her life — though not the kind of role anyone would want. It started off small.
“Can you handle the invitations, Lola?” she asked one afternoon, reclining on the couch with her swollen ankles propped on a pillow. “I’m just so tired.
Pregnancy brain is real — don’t listen to anything anyone else says. It’s not a myth.”
I nodded, even though the request landed heavily on my chest. “Sure, Melinda,” I said, telling myself it was just one simple task.
“I can take care of them.”
I figured that taking care of the invitations was just a small task, something that didn’t carry much weight or depth. I could do whatever she needed and still keep my distance from the entire thing. But soon the requests began piling up, one on top of the other.
“Could you prepare a few trays of appetizers, Lola?” she asked one morning. “Homemade feels more personal, and you don’t want your dad to be embarrassed by store-bought things, do you? The poor man has been through enough.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and sighed.
“Sure. I’ll figure it out,” I said simply and walked down the hallway into my room. The next day, while I was making a toasted sandwich, Melinda appeared in the kitchen, her hands holding onto her belly tightly.
“That looks delicious,” she said, already helping herself to my food. “Now, could you scrub the baseboards in the living room? Guests always notice that kind of thing, and my goodness, your family is a bit intense when it comes to cleanliness.”
“Are they really?” I asked, grating more cheese.
“I doubt anyone’s coming here to inspect the baseboards.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said with a little laugh. “I want everything to be spotless.”
And then came the one that nearly made me drop my phone. “I ordered this giant ‘Oh Baby’ sign.
It’s going to be delivered this afternoon. I need you to assemble it in the backyard. My back and knees hurt just thinking about it.”
I wanted to tell her to do it herself, but instead I forced a smile and agreed.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
