When my stepmom Diane asked me to be her maid of honor, I hoped we were finally a family. She presented me with a full bill following her promises, charging me for everything. My eyes burned with horror as I stood still. She didn’t realize my dad was behind her, watching.
Ever notice someone being overly nice? Like something dark is hidden? My stepmother Diane. Her actions on my dad’s wedding day still break my heart.
Sweetie, I can’t imagine this wedding without you,” she cooed, squeezing my hand with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Avery, you’ll be my precious assistant. I rely on you most.”
Surprised, I blinked.
“Um… okay,” I muttered, nodding.
Diane leaned in, her expensive perfume overwhelming. I’ve always seen something exceptional in you. Something very useful.”
“Useful?”
Her phony chuckle was too loud and unpleasant. Don’t be worried! You’re fantastic. Organized. Perfect for wedding planning.”
Her voice chilled me. “I thought you hired a wedding planner?”
Diane remarked, “Professionals cost too much, darling,” folding her arms. “Now you’re family. Families help, right?
Her usage of “family” was chilly and planned, like a knife.
College is mine. I can assist, but not… She interrupted my gentle pushback with a faint smile that signaled disaster.
“College? It’s networking, honey, she said. “Think of this as real-world practice.”
My dad and Diane housed me for two years while I finished school. Throughout that time, she treated me like a transitory guest—polite, aloof, and sometimes nastily nasty when I “messed up” her flawless routines.
But now? She wanted me as maid of honor.
“Sure,” I responded, trying to grin through pain.
She glowed artificially. “Oh, honey, I knew you’d agree! We’ll form a terrific team.”
I felt trapped by her exuberance.
I mumbled, “A team,” resentful.
“Exactly! Avery, you’ll understand what it means to be part of this family by the end.”
Diane immediately immersed me in dress shopping, cake tastings, and venue visits.
The first glimmer of optimism appeared. Maybe we were finally bonding. Maybe this was her unusual method of approaching.
Was horribly incorrect.
The wedding day arrived with false promises, but I was ready.
My clothing was lovely. My hair was perfect. My makeup was great.
Diane shone with phony delight. She looked like the happiest bride. I surprised myself by being glad for her and my dad.
After the vows, she muttered, “Thanks for everything, Avery,” as I led her to the bridal room. Her voice was very gentle, almost real.
A modest, hopeful smile. “Just glad I could help.”
She had a glimpse of something raw. It looked like something actual broke her immaculate facade.
“You know,” Diane began, shivering, “I never had a sister. Or a daughter.” Her grip on my arm was nearly clinging. Your absence would have made this harder. I appreciate it, honey.”
A foolish warmth wave hit me. We’re family! I said gently, meaning.
Her grip tightened, her gaze icy. She shouted, “Family!” like a weapon.
“There’s one more thing,” she added sharply, placing a pale pink envelope and a pink rose on the beautiful table.
What’s this? My stomach twisted as I asked.
She continued, “Just… something for you to take care of,” but her gaze shifted away from me.
I ripped it open and read the words aloud, feeling the ground slide away:
Itemized Bill:
Maid of honor dress: $380
Alterations: $95
Shoes: $150
$110 hair trial
Day-of styling: $180
Makeup: $150
Time and effort on you: $1,000
Emotional support: $250 (Total: $2,315)
My mouth dried.
“Diane…” My whisper was choked. “What…what is this?”
She stared at me with icy, crafty eyes. “You think living here is free?” she hissed like a serpent. “Every moment, meal, and thing I’ve done for you costs. A large one.”
Her tight smile was false. “Just a little payback, sweetie. Are we family now? It’s fair.”
My hands shook. “Are you serious?”
“Sweetie,” she mocked. “You lived in my house for two years. I cooked for you. Cared for you. You didn’t think that was free?
I squinted to comprehend its horror. “You can’t mean this.”
“I set everything up for you, didn’t I?” She continued, brushing up her lipstick like nothing. “Dress, hair, shoes. It’s worth something.”
Blood chilled. “I bought that myself, Diane!”
Her stone-like eyes greeted mine in the mirror. “And I arranged it,” she continued calmly, like a hunter watching an animal. “That takes effort, darling. You know what? You’re nothing without me.”
I was too shocked to speak or breathe. My dad entered the room like a storm, but we didn’t notice.
Diane’s hand froze, lipstick hitting the counter.
“P-Paul?!” She gasped, whirling too fast and covering her phony smile with a mask. It’s nothing, honey! A quick talk, you know?
Dad stood there, face like marble, eyes burning with a wrath I’d never seen.
“Chat? Did you give my daughter a bill?
Diane laughed shakily, desperate. “It’s silly, honey. A joke!” Turning to me, she begged. Right, Avery? Just a joke!”
“A joke?” He squinted with fury. “You charge my daughter for emotional support? For residing in my house?”
Diane blushed and lost confidence. “Paul, you don’t understand—”
“Explain it!” He grabbed the bill from my quivering hands, mouth hard.
“She’s grown up!” Diane snapped, arms crossed, voice high. Adult, she is. Adults fund themselves. I did everything for her. This is fair.”
“You’re saying you tricked my daughter into thinking you cared,” Dad stated dangerously. You hired her to plan your wedding. And now you’re trying to profit from her on our wedding day?
Diane’s face reddened as her stance collapsed. “I was just…evening things out,” she whispered.
“Evening out? Diane took advantage of her free help! You’re trying to defraud her on our wedding day?
“Don’t yell at me! Not now, not in my wedding dress! She panicked and screamed.
Ice-cold words from Dad chilled the room.
“You won’t wear it long.”
Diane lost color in her face. “W-What? You mean what?
Dad was unfazed. His wedding band slid off and clinked on the table like a final bell.
“It’s over,” he said calmly.
Surprised, Diane widened her eyes. “Paul, you’re kidding!”
I’m dead serious.”
Over this? Her voice was venomous as she waved at me. “You’re wasting it on her?”
“For her? Diane is my daughter. I rely on her. And you? You’re not who I expected. You won’t be a good person or stepmom. I regret every moment with you.”
Diane breathed frantically. With wild eyes, she shouted, “You’ll regret this, Paul!”
“No. Staying with someone who treats my daughter like a business will make me regret it.”
His harsh face softened into love as he turned to me. Ready to go, sweetie?
My throat was constricted, but I nodded shakily. “Yes, Dad. Ready.”
Diane’s wrath filled the suite as we left her turmoil. “You’ll regret! “Both of you!” she cried, breaking down. It was going to be my day!
Not looking back. Diane’s hazardous waste was left behind as we left and got in the car.
First time in years, I felt chosen.
The drive started quietly. Instead of Diane’s oppressive stillness, I felt comfortable and cozy.
Dad clutched the steering wheel with anger-tight knuckles but ferocious protection.
He finally murmured, “I’m so sorry,” his voice weighted with sorrow. So sad you went through that.”
“You apologize? Dad, you saved me.”
“I should have seen her as she was. Shoulda protected you better, Avery.”
His remarks resonated. Not just Diane, but everything we’d endured since Mom died. How he searched for someone to heal our family.
“I’m fine, Dad. Really.”
We arrived into our driveway, and I glanced at our house, which Diane said she “let” me live in. Dad stopped the engine but stayed.
Her actions were not loving. That wasn’t family.”
“Family doesn’t come with a bill, Dad,” I said, realizing.
He gently clasped my hand, promising. “No. Family means selecting each other, showing up when it matters, and safeguarding each other.”
The golden windows cast lovely shadows on the lawn as the sun set. We felt lighter, like we lost something toxic.
“Pizza?” Dad asked with lightheartedness. No charge for extra cheese!
Free and true laughter escaped me. This sounds great!
As we entered the house hand in hand, I realized: home is more than a place to stay. There, you’re loved fiercely without strings.
Diane tried everything—frantic calls to Dad, sobbing voicemails, and numerous texts with bogus apologies. But Dad stopped her. All the time.
He said, “I should’ve seen it sooner,” staring at the stars on the porch one peaceful night. “She never considered you. Or us. Not really.”
I said, “Dad,” holding his hand. “You saw it. That matters.”
“I’ll never let anyone treat you like that again, Avery.”
“No need. Dad, we’re OK. Better than okay.”
Indeed, we were.
