My Stepdaughter Said I Touched Her

Wendy Harper’s smile froze.

In six years of marriage, I had never once argued with her.

She had never expected me to shut her down with a single sentence.

Yvonne Sinclair stood in the entryway. Her backpack strap had slipped down to her elbow. Her eyes immediately filled with tears.

“Mom, I told you he didn’t want me here. You didn’t believe me.”

Wendy set the suitcase against the wall and walked over to the coffee table.

“Henry, what do you mean by that?

“Yvonne is your daughter too. She’s about to take the SATs. Why can’t she come home for a few months?”

I looked at her.

Wendy was forty-five. She took good care of herself and looked about thirty-seven or thirty-eight.

In my past life, I had been fooled by her gentle and caring appearance.

But in court, she had said, “I saw him come out of my daughter’s room in the middle of the night.”

When the judge asked her exactly what time it happened, she could not say.

When the judge asked how many times she had seen it, she had said, “Many times.”

When the judge asked why she had not said anything sooner, she said she had been too afraid to speak up.

Every word was another push toward prison. One sentence after another, she sent me to prison.

“Was I not clear enough?”

I stood up. “This is my house! I don’t agree to Yvonne moving back in!”

Wendy’s expression changed.

“I’m your wife! I’m going to live with my daughter!”

I raised my voice. “In that case, you can leave too!”

Yvonne suddenly pulled her hand away from Wendy and walked over to me.

She looked up at me. Tears filled her eyes.

“Dad, are you arguing with Mom because of me?”

She bit her lip.

“Dad, I won’t come back. I’ll stay at the dorm.

“I don’t mind sharing a room with seven other girls. Please don’t make things difficult for Mom.”

She turned around and reached for her suitcase. Wendy grabbed her arm.

“No! How could you possibly study in that dorm?

“It’s noisy until 2 a.m. or 3 a.m.. How are you supposed to study?”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. I can wear earplugs. I don’t want you and Dad to argue because of me.”

Yvonne cried as she spoke. She barely made a sound, but somehow, her silent tears were even more heartbreaking than loud sobs.

Wendy held onto her and looked at me. Her voice softened.

“Henry, I know this is your house. But we’re a family.

“Yvonne is your daughter. She’s called you Dad for six years.

“She’s repeating her senior year, so she’s already under a lot of pressure. There are seven other girls in her dorm room.

“She can barely sleep at night. How could you bear to let her go through all that?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke.

There was a noise outside the door. It was Ryan Zane from the apartment across the hall.

“Henry, what’s going on? Why are you guys arguing?”

Before I could say anything, Wendy spoke first.

“Ryan, it’s nothing. Yvonne wants to come home, but Henry won’t let her.”

Ryan frowned.

“He won’t let her? Why not? Isn’t this your home too?”

Wendy wiped away her tears and forced a smile that looked even worse than crying.

“Ryan, tell me if I’m wrong! He says this house was his property before we got married, so I have no say in it.

“He thinks my daughter is a burden.”

Ryan’s expression changed.

“Henry, that’s not right. Why are you making a distinction between what’s yours and what’s hers?

“You’re a family. You shouldn’t say things like that.

“Your daughter’s SAT is important. You can’t let this affect her future.”

I looked at Ryan.

He always acted like he was eager to help others. But in my past life, as soon as the scandal with Yvonne broke out, he was the first person to splash red paint all over my front door.

I looked at him coldly. “Why are you sticking your nose into my family’s business?”

Ryan was about to say something else, but I shut the door in his face.

Wendy stood in the middle of the living room and stared straight at me.

“Henry, if you’re going to treat me like this, then there’s no point in staying married.”

She was threatening me.

She had said the same thing in my past life. Whenever we disagreed, she would say, “We can’t go on like this.”

Back then, I always thought she had it hard. She was a woman who was raising a child.

So, whenever we argued, I always backed down first.

I was not going to repeat that.

“Fine!

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to the city hall and get a divorce.”