Guess What, Hubby? I'm Your Stepmom Now!
On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed.
When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me.
After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years.
I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home.
When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home.
Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands.
"Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here."
I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him.
He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish."
At that moment, something inside me broke.
I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore.
The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father.
"You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan."
I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice.
"If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."
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