My Bio Mom Crashed My Graduation Party To Play Mother Of The Year — Until My Stepmom Finally Snapped
Part 2
“Earned it?”
Brenda’s voice shook with a rage I had never heard from her before.
I peeked around the corner of the doorframe.
Brenda stood entirely rigid by the sink, gripping the edge of the countertop so hard her knuckles were white.
“You want to talk about earning it?” she challenged.
Heather took a small step back, clearly caught off guard by the venom in Brenda’s tone.
“I was the one sitting outside her bedroom door at two in the morning,” Brenda fired back.
“I sat there while she had panic attacks because you forgot her birthday three years in a row.”
My chest tightened at the memory.
“I turned down a promotion that would have changed my entire career,” Brenda continued, stepping closer to Heather.
“It required relocating, and I refused to uproot her in the middle of her junior year.”
I covered my mouth with both hands.
I never knew about any promotion.
“I paid for her therapy out of my own savings,” Brenda said, her voice cracking slightly.
“I told her the insurance covered it because I knew she’d never agree to go if she thought she was putting anyone out.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
“When my marriage to her father started falling apart, I stayed longer than I should have,” Brenda admitted.
Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.”
Heather crossed her arms defensively, her floral dress suddenly looking ridiculous in the sterile kitchen light.
“You want to know why she even got birthday cards from you at all?”
Brenda stepped forward.
Heather opened her mouth to speak, but Brenda cut her off.
“Because I sent you reminders every single year.”
The floor seemed to drop out from underneath me.
“I texted you photos, updates, and told you what she was interested in so you’d have something to say if you ever bothered to call,” Brenda revealed.
“I begged you to show up for her, and you couldn’t even do the bare minimum.”
Heather’s face flushed a deep, mottled red.
“She’s my daughter,” Heather hissed.
“I gave birth to her.”
Heather pointed a shaking finger at Brenda’s chest.
“That makes me her mother, not you.”
Brenda didn’t flinch.
“You gave birth to her, congratulations,” Brenda shouted back.
The sheer volume of her voice made me jump.
“I chose her.”
Brenda stepped so close that Heather was forced against the refrigerator.
“Every single day since the day I met her, I woke up and chose her.”
Brenda’s chest heaved with the force of her words.
“I chose her when she was difficult and angry and grieving a version of you that never existed.”
Tears streamed down Brenda’s face, but she didn’t wipe them away.
“I chose her when she screamed that I wasn’t her real mom and slammed her door in my face.”
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“I chose her knowing she might never love me back, because that’s what being a mother actually means,” Brenda finished, her voice completely breaking.
Heather stared at her, utterly speechless for the first time in my life.
I placed my hand flat against the wooden door, knowing I couldn’t hide in the shadows any longer.
The rusted hinges squeaked loudly as I pushed the door open.
Both women snapped their heads in my direction.
Heather’s confident posture crumbled instantly, replaced by a look of sheer panic.
Brenda’s face went completely pale, her eyes wide with fear as she realized I had heard everything.
I took a slow, unsteady step into the room, but what do you even say when the biggest secret of your childhood has just been laid bare on the kitchen floor?
