Stepfather. Part 7

The next morning my eyes somehow opened. I was still alive, even though it felt like my entire world was over. I was horrified by what I’d done, how my life had boiled down to this moment.

I staggered into the bathroom, letting the boiling hot water wash traces of my stepfather off me. Was he next to her in their bed, kissing her and offering the same empty promises he made me as I washed?

Part of me played Devil’s Advocate. Maybe he had to have sex with her to placate her. Maybe she was a little too suspicious, and he wanted to distract her.

I wouldn’t know until I saw him again.

That glimmer of hope cheered me up a tiny bit.

I walked into the kitchen, desperate for some hot coffee.

“Good morning.”

I nearly dropped my mug. My mother sat casually at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Her makeup was on point, again, and the dress she wore was beautiful and golden. She looked composed ... and ready to strike.

I look