The kitchen timer buzzed as I pulled out the last batch of chocolate chip cookies, the sweet aroma filling our modest suburban home. Upstairs, giggles floated down the hallway where my daughters were sprawled on the carpet, planning their school pageant outfits.
A delighted woman baking cookies | Source: Pexels
A delighted woman baking cookies | Source: Pexels
Six years into my marriage with David and those sounds still made my heart swell. Watching our daughters, Sophie and Liza — technically, my daughter and his daughter from our previous marriages — become inseparable has been the greatest gift of this whole blended family thing.
“Mom! Can we have cookies now?” Sophie called from upstairs.
“Only if you’ve finished your homework!” I shouted back.
Thundering footsteps cascaded down the stairs as both girls, now 15, burst into the kitchen, laughing.
Two delighted teenage girls embracing each other | Source: Freepik
Two delighted teenage girls embracing each other | Source: Freepik
“We’re starving,” Liza proclaimed dramatically, reaching for a cookie. Her dark curls matched her father’s, while Sophie’s blonde waves came from me.
“Dad’s going to be late again, isn’t he?” Sophie asked, perching on a barstool.
I nodded, sliding glasses of milk their way. “Budget meeting. He said not to wait up.”
“Hey, did you guys see the flyer? For the Spring Pageant?” Liza asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “We should totally do it.”
Sophie hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“Come on! We could wear matching dresses and everything,” Liza insisted.
People gathered at an auditorium | Source: Pexels
People gathered at an auditorium | Source: Pexels
“And who’s going to make these matching dresses?” I raised an eyebrow, already knowing I’d be volunteering.
They both turned to me with identical pleading expressions.
“Please, Mom? You’re amazing with the sewing machine,” Sophie said.
“Please, Elina?” Liza echoed. She’d never called me “Mom,” but the way she said my name carried the same warmth.
How could I say no to those faces?
“Fine,” I laughed. “But you’re both helping with the design.”
A woman sewing clothes | Source: Pexels
A woman sewing clothes | Source: Pexels
Later that night, as David slipped into bed beside me, I whispered, “The girls want to enter the Spring Pageant. Together.”
He pulled me close. “That’s great. My mother called, by the way. She wants us all for Sunday dinner.”
My stomach knotted. “Wendy invited all of us?”
Even in the darkness, I felt his hesitation. “Well, she asked about Liza specifically, but—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “We’ll all go. It’s been 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 a family… all of us.”
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
Sunday dinner at Wendy’s sprawling colonial house was always an exercise in restraint. And that day was no exception.
“Liza, darling, I got you something,” she announced after we finished her famous pot roast. She pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to her granddaughter.
Liza opened it to find a delicate silver bracelet with a heart charm. “Wow, thanks, Grandma!”
Sophie sat quietly beside her, her sad eyes fixed on her empty plate. I felt a familiar burn in my chest.
Close-up shot of a silver bracelet | Source: Pexels
Close-up shot of a silver bracelet | Source: Pexels
“The girls have exciting news,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “They’re both entering the Spring Pageant at school.”
“How lovely,” Wendy replied, her smile dimming slightly. “Liza, you’ll be wonderful on stage. You have your late mother’s grace.”
David cleared his throat. “Both girls will be wonderful.”
“Of course,” Wendy said dismissively, then turned to Liza. “Are you wearing the blue dress we saw at the mall last month?”
“Actually,” I interjected, “I’m making their dresses. Matching ones.”
An elegant senior woman sitting on the couch | Source: Freepik
An elegant senior woman sitting on the couch | Source: Freepik
Wendy’s eyebrows shot up. “Matching? But Liza should stand out. She’s got the looks.”
“Mom?” David warned.
“What? I’m just saying some girls are naturally more suited for these things. It’s genetics.”
Sophie pushed her chair back slightly. “May I be excused? I need to use the bathroom.”
After she left, I leaned forward. “Wendy, we’ve talked about this. Both girls deserve equal treatment.”
“Equal treatment?” She laughed. “Elina, dear, I’m not being cruel. I’m being realistic. Sophie is YOUR daughter. Not David’s. Why pretend otherwise?”
“Because we’re a family,” David said firmly. “All of us.”
A frustrated man | Source: Pexels
A frustrated man | Source: Pexels
“Family is blood,” Wendy hissed, her voice hard as stone. “You can’t change that with wishful thinking. Sophie is not my granddaughter. And she never will be.”
“Mom, can you please—”
“David, it’s okay.” I cut him off gently, already turning toward the stairs. “Let’s just go home.”
I headed up to get the girls.
***
For weeks, I stayed up late working on the dresses — pale blue satin with hand-embroidered flowers across the bodices. The girls would try them on, twirling in front of the mirror, making plans for their hair and makeup.
“These are the most beautiful dresses ever!” Sophie exclaimed during their final fitting, running her fingers along the delicate lace trim.
“Elina, you’re a genius!” Liza agreed, examining her reflection.
I smiled, exhausted but proud. “You’re both going to steal the show.”
A girl wearing a gorgeous blue dress | Source: Freepik
A girl wearing a gorgeous blue dress | Source: Freepik
The pageant was scheduled for Saturday morning at the community center near Wendy’s neighborhood. Since it was an early start, David suggested we stay at his mother’s the night before.
“It makes sense,” he said when I expressed concern. “She’s five minutes from the venue. We’d have to leave our place at dawn otherwise.”
“But the dresses—”
“We’ll bring them with us and keep them safe. It’s one night, Elina.”
I relented, telling myself I was being paranoid. Wendy wouldn’t stoop so low as to sabotage a child’s moment. Would she?
***
Friday evening found us settled in Wendy’s guest rooms. I carefully hung both dresses in the closet of the girls’ room, making sure they wouldn’t wrinkle overnight.
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