The radio host’s cheerful voice faded as I turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car. “It’s time to reconnect with your daughter! Don’t miss our Mother-Daughter brunch specials…” The words lingered longer than they should have. Maybe spending some quality time with Mia, my husband’s daughter, wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Mia had been living with Richard and me for two years now. She was more than just a stepdaughter on paper—she was a piece of Richard’s past brought into our present. Richard had told me about her one day, almost casually. Mia was born to Wilhelmina, his older neighbor from his rebellious teenage years, someone who had tracked him down after years of absence. Richard wanted to make up for lost time, to finally be the father he never was.
I loved Richard, and I loved the idea of welcoming Mia as family. When she moved in, I thought it was temporary. But Richard’s surprise purchase of a new bed and the full makeover of her room told a different story. Mia was here to stay. She had transferred schools to finish her art degree nearby and even landed a job at a gallery, where she’d been given the chance to exhibit her work. Richard was glowing with pride, and I tried to feel the same, even though I wasn’t sure if I truly knew Mia at all.
We’d never really bonded—not deeply. I knew her favorite foods, her allergies, the surface-level stuff. But what about her dreams? Her fears? What made Mia her?
“Cora? Dinner’s soon,” Mia’s voice called from the living room.
I set my purse down, feeling a pang of hesitation. “Want to help?”
She nodded, and I noticed how comfortable she looked—sipping peach iced tea, flipping through a fashion magazine. I envied their closeness sometimes. Mia and Richard shared a quiet language I couldn’t understand, like secret codes from another world.
Later that night, Richard slipped into bed beside me, whispering, “She’s excited about tonight. More than she let on.”
I whispered back, “Thank you,” but my heart felt heavy. I didn’t have a child of my own to connect with, only this fragile stepdaughter who seemed just out of reach. Jealousy bubbled up, a truth I couldn’t ignore.
But I convinced myself it was temporary. Tomorrow was a new day—a chance to build bridges.