I’ve raised my stepdaughter, Katy, after her mom ran off with some guy. Katy and her mom reconnected 11 years later. I was always suspicious.
Yesterday, I overheard her giggling. She was talking with her mom. My stomach dropped when I overheard Katy’s mom saying that I “wasn’t even her real dad” and “should be thankful she even stayed that long.” I stood by the kitchen wall, holding a dripping sponge in one hand and trying not to shake.
That phone call confirmed what I’d been worried about for months. Her mom, Serena, had slowly slithered back into Katy’s life like nothing had happened. She popped up after more than a decade, acting like some long-lost princess trying to reclaim her throne.
And Katy? At first, she was cautious. But I saw it—how the texts got more frequent, how she’d smile at her phone, how she started calling her “Mom” again like it didn’t leave a bitter taste.
I didn’t blame Katy, not one bit. She was just a kid when Serena left. Kids crave that missing puzzle piece, even if it never fit right in the first place.
But what hurt—what knocked the wind out of me—was hearing Katy laugh along. Hearing her agree, even giggle, when Serena said I was “just a fill-in.” Like all the scraped knees, midnight fevers, college applications, and breakup talks were just chores on a to-do list I volunteered for. After that call, I just stood there in the kitchen for a while.
I didn’t cry. But I did stare at that old magnet on the fridge—the one with Katy’s crayon drawing of us from when she was eight. “Me and Dad” scrawled in rainbow letters.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to confront her in anger. I wanted to understand.
But part of me also feared the truth. Had I been just a placeholder all this time? The next morning, Katy came down for breakfast like nothing happened.
She was wearing that old university hoodie I’d bought her during our road trip to Durham. I poured her some coffee. “Morning,” I said, keeping it casual.
She smiled, kind of distracted. “Morning.”
I sat down. “Hey.
Can I ask you something?”
She blinked. “Sure.”
I kept my voice steady. “I overheard you on the phone last night.
With Serena.”
She froze. Eyes wide. “You… you heard?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. I heard her say I wasn’t your real dad. That I should feel lucky you stuck around.”
Katy opened her mouth, then closed it.
“Do you believe that?” I asked. “That I was just a stand-in?”
She looked down, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie. “No.
I mean—no, not really. It’s complicated.”
I waited. “She just… she gets into my head sometimes,” she admitted.
“She says things like that and I don’t even realize I’m agreeing until afterward.”
I nodded slowly. “So do you think of me as your dad?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I do.
I swear I do. You’ve always been the one who stayed.”
That helped. But it didn’t erase the ache.
Over the next few weeks, things were a little tense. Not awful, just… careful. Katy kept texting Serena, even visiting her once.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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