Woman Pretends to Be a Loving Stepmother, but She Secretly Hates Her Husband's Kid Like She Hated Her Own — Story of the Day

I always thought it was my fault that my mother didn't love me, but then she remarried and I realized exactly who and what she was.

When I was three, I noticed that my mom was different from other moms. I'd see my little friends get picked up from playschool, and their mothers would pick them up and hug and kiss them.

My mother never did. It was my dad who would swing me up in his arms and whirl me around, cuddle me and tickle me and tuck me at night. My mother was distant, but my father made up for it. Then when I was five, he passed away.

With my father gone, my life became so much harder. My mother had no patience for a bewildered, grieving little girl; she was too busy thinking about herself to have time for me.

I couldn't understand why she didn't love me, and I thought at first that it was because I was bad. So I tried hard to be good, worked hard at school to get the best marks, always tidied up my room.

May's father loved her, but her mother was a coldly calculating and abusive woman.

But nothing changed, no matter how hard I tried to please her. A good day was when she ignored me, a bad day was when she noticed me -- that usually meant that she took out her frustrations on me.

She never hit me, but she lashed out at me cruelly, telling me I was the biggest mistake of her life, and that my father had died because he worked too hard because of me.

I cried myself to sleep on the bad days. As I grew older things got worse. At the age of 12, I was old enough to be useful, my mother told me. That meant I became her slave, her cleaner.

Then she brought John West home. He was a nice man, kind and gentle. I could see that John liked my mother a lot. She was so pretty, and in front of him, she was so sweet!

Two months later, I had the surprise of my life when John brought his son David to visit us. The surprise was how my mother treated David. "David," she cooed sweetly, "what a handsome boy you are!"

My mother bent down to give David a big hug and kissed him gently on the cheek. Then she took him by the hand and showed him the garden. I stood staring after them, my mouth hanging open.

Was that my MOTHER? Being kind and loving? So it WAS me, I didn't deserve her love or her kindness. I ran to my room and cried like a baby.

David and John moved in with us, and at least now I was spared her tongue-lashings. In front of John and David my mother was polite to me, and even though I was still cooking and cleaning, life became easier.

I watched David, wondering what it was he did to earn her approval. Why did she love David and not me? He was a sweet child, but not very bright. Nevertheless, when he brought home mediocre results, my mother was understanding and encouraging.

When I brought home straight As, she remarked: "It's only to be expected, May, you owe your father this." So academic achievement wasn't the key to her heart either.

The truth came out a few years after mother married John, and he bought her a huge new house. I came home early one afternoon with the flu and heard my mother on the phone with one of her cronies.

John was at work, and David was at school, so she was free to be herself. "I can't stand the sight of that brat," I heard her say and cringed. She really must hate me a lot to tell other people so.

"Oh, you have no idea!" she continued, "I have to smarm and fuss over him when all I want to do is slap his stupid face! I'm convincing John to send him to boarding school..."

So it wasn't me, it was poor David! She hated him, just like she hated me. All that loving-kindness she'd showed him was a lie, calculated to convince John that she was a wonderful step-mom to his orphaned boy!

I stepped out and my mother saw me. "What are you doing here, May, sneaking around?" she gasped, dropping the phone, "Go to your room!"

"You're a liar!" I said to her, trembling with rage, "You're a mean woman. You don't just hate me, you hate David too, you probably hate John. Did you hate daddy too?"

"Daddy? Daddy?" she screamed. "All that 'daddy' ever saw was you! That's why he married me because I was pregnant. Of course, I hate you! You ruined my life!"

I went upstairs and packed a backpack with a few essentials. That night, I slept over at a friend's house, and the next day, I went looking for work. I found myself a job at a pet shop in a mall, working after school until 11 every night.

Thanks to the help and support of my friends, I found a room I could afford and graduated high school with honors. I was lucky enough to get a scholarship, and I worked my way through college.

I worked hard to become a veterinarian and after I graduated, I joined a flourishing practice. I was happy with my work and started dating one of my colleagues. Life was looking good, then my mother showed up.

She walked into my office one day, looking a lot older and very bitter. "Mother!" I gasped. I couldn't believe it. "How did you find me?"

"Well hello to you too, May," she said smiling sweetly. "I heard from your friend Jonie's mother that you were quite a success, so I had to come and see..."

I knew that smile. "What is it that you want, mother?" I asked.

"John has left me," she said. "I need a place to stay, so I'm moving in with you."

"No, you're not," I told her.

"You dare say no to me?" she screamed. "Afer all I did for you?"

"You didn't do anything for me, mother, except mistreat me and blame me for my father's death," I replied. "Please go or I'll have to call security."

She walked out, and I never saw her again. I'm married now, and I'm expecting my first baby any day. I know I'll be lavishing the same unconditional love my father gave me on my own daughter.

What can we learn from this story?

• All children deserve to be loved unconditionally. May's father loved her, but her mother was a coldly calculating and abusive woman.
• No one can hide their true nature forever. May's mother fooled John and David, but her daughter realized that she was faking her love for her stepson.

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This account is inspired by our reader's story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone's life. If you would like to share your story, please send it to info@amomama.com.