My ten-year-old daughter's dad passed away when she was just three. For years, it was us against the world.
Then I married Daniel. He treats Emma like his own — packing lunches, helping with projects, and reading her favorite stories to her every night.
He's her dad in every way that matters, but his mother, Carol, has never seen it that way.
He's her dad in every way that matters, but his mother, Carol, has never seen it that way.
"It's sweet that you pretend she's your real daughter," she once told Daniel.
Another time, she said, "Stepchildren never feel like true family."
And the one that always made my blood run cold: "Your daughter reminds you of your dead husband. That must be hard."
Daniel shut it down every time, but the remarks still happened.
Daniel shut it down every time, but the remarks still happened.
We dealt with it by avoiding long visits and sticking to polite conversation. We wanted to keep the peace.
Until Carol crossed the line from mean remarks to being downright monstrous.
Emma has always had a kind heart. When December approached, she announced she wanted to crochet 80 hats for children spending the holidays in hospices.
