Exposing My Stepmother
Her eyes darted around, never daring to look at Dad.
Dad sat beside her like an iron tower, silent, but the pressure he gave off felt like a storm about to break, the atmosphere in the room turning cold.
I sat obediently on a small stool, swinging my short legs, even humming a nursery rhyme our kindergarten teacher had just taught us.
“What are you singing?” Mary suddenly asked, her voice hoarse.
I smiled sweetly at her. “The one my teacher taught us. It’s called My Good Mom.”
Mary’s face turned paper-white in an instant.