Sometimes the people who are supposed to love us the most turn out to be the cruelest. I never thought someone could be so cruel to a child. On the morning of a school pageant, my daughter’s dress was ruined. But it wasn’t the spoiling itself that hurt the most, it was the realisation of who had done it and why.
The timer in the kitchen jingled as I pulled out the last of the chocolate chip biscuits, and the sweet aroma filled our humble suburban home. Giggles echoed in the upstairs hallway where my daughters stretched out on the carpet planning their outfits for school pageants.
It’s been six years since David and I were married, and those sounds still make my heart race. Watching our daughters, Sophie and Liza – technically my daughter and his daughter from previous marriages – become inseparable has been the greatest gift in this whole blended family thing.
‘Mum! Can we have biscuits now?’ called Sophie from upstairs.
‘Only if you’ve done your homework!’ I shouted back.
Rumbling footsteps rumbled up the stairs and both girls, now both 15 years old, burst into the kitchen with laughter.
‘We’re starving,’ Liza announced sharply, reaching for a biscuit. Her dark curls were in tune with her father’s, and Sophie’s blonde waves she’d inherited from me.
‘Daddy’s going to be late again, isn’t he?’ asked Sophie, sitting down on a bar stool.
I nodded, holding out their glasses of milk. “Budget meeting. He said not to wait.”
“Hey, have you guys seen the flyer? About the spring competition?” asked Liza, her eyes burning with excitement. ‘We should totally do it.’
Sophie hesitated. ‘I don’t know…’
“Come on! We can wear matching dresses and stuff,” Liza insisted.
‘And who’s going to sew those matching dresses?’ I raised an eyebrow, already knowing I was going to volunteer.
They both turned to me with the same pleading look on their faces.
“Please, Mum? You’re great with the sewing machine,” Sophie said.
‘Please, Elina?’ repeated Liza. She had never called me “Mum”, but there was the same warmth in the way she said my name.
How could I say no to these faces?
‘Okay,’ I laughed. ‘But you’re both helping with the design.’
Later that night, as David sank down beside me on the bed, I whispered: “The girls want to enter the spring competition. Together.”
He pulled me to him. “That’s great. By the way, my mum called. She wants us all to be at Sunday dinner.”
My stomach clenched into a lump. ‘Wendy invited all of us?’
Even in the dark, I could feel his hesitation. ‘Well, she was asking specifically about Liza, but…’
‘It’s okay,’ I cut him short. “We’ll all go. It’s been a few weeks since her last…comment.”
David sighed. “I’ve talked to her so many times, Elina. I don’t know what else to do.”
I squeezed his hand. ‘We just keep showing her that we’re family…all of us.’
Sunday dinner at Wendy’s huge colonial home was always an exercise in restraint. And this day was no exception.
‘Liza, dear, I have something for you,’ she announced after we finished her famous roast. She pulled out a small box and held it out to her granddaughter.
Opening it, Liza discovered a dainty silver bracelet with a heart charm. ‘Thank you, Grandma!’
Sophie sat quietly beside her, her sad eyes fixed on the empty plate. I felt a familiar burning sensation in my chest.
‘The girls have interesting news,’ I said, forcing my voice to be bright. ‘They’re both competing in the school’s Spring Pageant.’
‘How nice,’ Wendy replied, her smile fading slightly. “Liza, you’re going to be gorgeous on stage. You have your late mother’s grace in you.”
David cleared his throat. ‘Both girls will be beautiful.’
‘Of course,’ Wendy said dismissively, then turned to Liza. ‘Are you wearing that blue dress we saw at the mall last month?’
‘Actually,’ I interjected, “I sew them dresses. And identical ones.”
Wendy’s eyebrows flew upward. “Matching? But Liza has to stand out. She has the looks.”
‘Mum?’ warned David.
“What? I’m just saying that some girls are naturally more suited to this sort of thing. It’s genetics.”
Sophie pushed her chair back slightly. “Can I excused myself? I need to use the loo.”
When she left, I leaned forward. “Wendy, we’ve talked about this before. Both girls deserve equal treatment.”
‘Equal treatment?’ She laughed. “Elina, dear, I’m not cruel. I’m being realistic. Sophie is YOUR daughter. Not David’s. Why pretend otherwise?”
‘Because we’re family,’ David said firmly. ‘All of us.’
‘Family is blood,’ Wendy hissed, her voice as hard as stone. “You can’t change that by wishful thinking. Sophie is not my granddaughter. And she never will be.”
‘Mum, could you…’
‘David, it’s okay.’ I interrupted him gently, already turning towards the stairs. ‘Let’s just go home.’
I headed after the girls.