3. Tori
TORI
My stepmother Michelle came into my life when I was four years old.
I could still remember meeting her for the first time.
Though I was the kind of child that loved every new person I met, probably due to the fact that I was left in the care of others so frequently, my initial reaction was one of suspicion.
Who was this beautiful woman on our doorstep?
Why was my father smiling so much at her?
This new ‘friend’ of his was glamorous, in heels and lipstick.
She was nothing like the older nannies or teenage babysitters he usually introduced me to.
The plan was to take Michelle out to lunch that day, but my father had to take a quick, urgent call from a congressman, so he asked her to help me find my shoes so we could leave as soon as possible.
Upstairs in my toy-strewn bedroom, Michelle noticed my dolls and bears arranged in a circle on the floor, a variety of plastic food set out for each of them.
“Is this a tea party?” she’d asked in her gentle southern drawl.
“Nope,” I answered, rolling my eyes. “It’s a campfire. They’re having hot dogs for dinner and telling scary stories.”
“How nice,” Michelle said politely, unearthing my little pink sandals from a pile under the bed and passing them to me. “And I’ll just bet there will be s’mores for dessert.”
“Some more what?” I asked, still wary but letting her help me with the buckles.
“S’mores is a snack,” Michelle explained. “You make them with graham crackers and chocolate and toasted marshmallows, like a sandwich. Haven’t you ever had them?”
When I told her I hadn’t, she insisted we rectify the situation immediately. Then she somehow convinced my father to run out to the store for graham crackers while she helped me look for sticks in the backyard so we could toast marshmallows over the stove.
Our big date turned into the three of us having s’mores on the back porch while Michelle told us about a disastrous camping trip she’d gone on with her very unprepared sorority sisters back in college.
I hadn’t seen my dad laugh like that ever, and I decided that Michelle could keep coming around for visits.
We had been friends ever since. I’d even helped my father pick out the engagement ring that he proposed to her with some months later.
All this was to say, the word ‘stepmother’ carried no negative connotations for me.
But I had no idea what was going through Stefan’s mind right now.
I would never stand in the way of him getting to know his son and being a father—the very idea of interfering went against who I was as a person and what I’d experienced myself in my relationship with my own stepmother—but what if this new life of Stefan’s wasn’t compatible with our marriage?
Lots of couples had blended families, though, and I would be thrilled to be a stepmom myself.
I imagined what kind of parents Stefan and I would be together.
Kind, warm, loving. Fun. I could even teach the kid how to make s’mores, if Anja hadn’t already.
Build blanket forts in the den on weekends and take him mini-golfing or to the Shedd Aquarium here in the city.
But maybe my fantasy version of our future family, with Anja as a friend and Max as our shared child, was just that—a fantasy. Maybe it was stupid to assume it would be so simple.
My thoughts reeled dizzyingly as I curled up in a tiny ball in the backseat of the Town Car.
The whole way home from Konstantin’s penthouse, I struggled with this new reality.
Thoughts of calling Michelle or texting my friend Grace went through my mind, but I didn’t know what I’d say, how I’d even begin to explain what was happening—and I honestly didn’t think there was anything they could say to me that would be comforting.
Instead I spent the entire ride back to the condo replaying the scene in my father-in-law’s library over and over again.
The whole thing had a distant, unreal quality to it.
I just couldn’t believe this was happening. That Anja was back.
I don’t know why it was such a shock. Ever since Stefan had told me about his relationship with Anja and her deportation and disappearance, I’d assumed she was out there somewhere.
I’d been aware that for the last eight years Stefan had made it his mission in life to find her, and I’d been open to the possibility that she might someday be a part of our lives.
But I’d never dreamed it would be like this.
Never dreamed that Stefan—my husband—had a child.
I looked out the window of the Town Car at the bright lights of Chicago whirling by. It made my eyes hurt.
Anja had a son. Stefan’s son.
I’d barely gotten a look at the boy, but even at a glance, his eyes had stood out as familiar to me.
They were green, with a hint of blue. The perfect mix between Anja’s stormy color and Stefan’s clear green.
He also had Stefan’s dark brown hair and full lips.
I knew in my gut that Anja wasn’t lying about who he was.
About who he belonged to. Stefan had fathered a child with the woman he loved.
The hard truth of the situation made it hard for me to breathe.
For a moment, I felt so dizzy that I had to grab onto the arm rest to stabilize myself.
But there would be nothing to steady me against the fact that Stefan had another family now.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known about the boy before, because I knew nothing would ever be the same for him—for us—now that Anja had shown up with their child.
It changed everything.
I couldn’t even fathom what Stefan was going through as he talked with Anja back at his dad’s place.
What he was thinking, how he was feeling.
I’d seen the blank look in his eyes at first, the complete shock.
Then the way his body language had projected his anger toward his father, and the obvious emotional pain when he looked at Anja and squeezed my hand.
Anja Borjan. She was even more beautiful than Stefan had made her out to be.
Of course I knew exactly what kind of women KZ Modeling hired, but I’d still been startled by the way her eyes looked like deep oceans, how perfect her shining dark hair was, her long legs.
How could I compete with someone who looked like that?
And Stefan had been so in love with her.
At seventeen, his first love would have felt like his entire world.
I’d know; I was eighteen when Stefan and I had met for the first time, eighteen when I’d realized I was hopelessly, undeniably in love with him.
I was still eighteen, and the overwhelming heartache I’d experienced in the last few months had taught me more than I’d ever imagined about what first love could feel like.
So. It would be na?ve of me to ignore the possibility that Stefan might want to get back together with her.
Years had passed, but there was no way their feelings for each other were completely gone.
Especially now that Stefan knew he and Anja had a child together.
What if seeing her in person made him realize he was still carrying a torch for her?
What if there wasn’t any room for me in his life at all anymore?
The worst part was, things between Stefan and I had just found their way. Had just stabilized. This huge bombshell could destroy all that. Who knew what he would say when he came home. He had kissed me before I left, but what if that had been a goodbye kiss?
I touched my fingers to my lips as if I could hold onto his touch. As if I could capture it forever.
The car finally pulled up outside our building and somehow I managed to stumble through the lobby, into the elevator, and down the hall to our condo. I stepped out of my shoes in the entryway, shrugged off my coat, and then wandered into our bedroom, my mind in a haze.
Looking at myself in the full-length mirror, I couldn’t believe how put-together I still appeared.
I was broken, but you’d never know it judging by the outside.
I’d gotten so good at pretending to be brave and strong, burying my true feelings, but none of it was real—it was just my years of training kicking in, creating a hard shell around me.
My hair was still perfect, my black dress pressed, my new earrings from Stefan sparkling.
But what good was keeping up appearances, when it was all a lie?
When everything inside you was falling apart?
After pulling the bobby pins out of my hair, I unzipped my dress and hung it back up in the closet, then unhooked my earrings and left them on the dresser. Everything was coming apart. I didn’t know what to do with myself.
In the shower I stood under the spray of hot water, my tears finally flowing, but my crying was silent.
I still felt numb. This wasn’t about fighting for Stefan, or fighting for our marriage.
It was about giving him the time and space he needed to make his own choices about his life—his child’s life—which had nothing to do with me.
The last thing I wanted to do was stand in his way.
All I could do was wait. I’d never felt so helpless.
I could so easily picture Stefan being a father. I saw him laughing and smiling, the little boy hoisted up on his shoulders. Or playing catch with his son in a backyard with a jungle gym or a treehouse, maybe with a dog running around, Anja looking on with love in her eyes.
That was the image that haunted me most. Because the way Anja gazed at Stefan left no doubt in my mind.
She still loved him. It was obvious. What would she do to get him back?
I knew what I would do: Anything. Did I stand a chance against her?
She’d had his heart first; what woman could compete with a man’s first love?
Especially when that first love had been cruelly taken away from him, but was suddenly back in the picture. Back with his child.
Stefan and his son and Anja. The three of them made the picture-perfect family. They’d all look beautiful together. Like they belonged together. I didn’t fit in that picture.
Images rose up unbidden, torturing me: Stefan and Anja raising their son, standing with their arms around each other, watching the boy with looks of admiration and joy on their faces.
Stefan taking Anja in his arms and kissing her, cupping her face gently the way he’d done to me.
Touching her stomach, whispering in her ear, sharing his hopes of having a second child with her.
I imagined them trying for that child, their naked bodies fitting together perfectly as they made love on a lazy Sunday morning.
Stefan’s hands roaming over Anja’s lithe body, his lips trailing kisses down her throat, her breasts, him fucking her until she screamed his name with that sexy Eastern European accent, her body arching up off the bed with the pure bliss I knew he was capable of giving a woman.
And she’d please him, too. Unlike me, she was experienced.
Worldly. She would know how to satisfy Stefan in ways I couldn’t.
Sinking to the shower floor, I covered my eyes and cried out, finally giving voice to my pain. My body shook with sobs and I wished Stefan was here to hold me. But he wasn’t. And there was no one I could turn to.
When the water ran cool, I stepped out, wrapped myself in a towel, and headed to the guest room.
I couldn’t bear to sleep in our bed, not after what had happened tonight.
Not after my imagination had so vividly played out all the possible ways Stefan would make love to Anja.
I could so easily see her in that bed, in my place.
Head tilted back, eyes closed, her full lips parted in ecstasy.
Her long legs wrapped tight around his torso as he thrusted into her with deep and reassuring strokes, making up for all the years they’d spent apart, his hands gliding through her dark hair, their bodies in perfect harmony.
Stefan might not even want to sleep next to me while he was going through all of this.
I told myself I’d sleep better in the guest bed, too.
I put on my pajamas and crawled under the crisp, cool sheets.
It was just like it had been before, with the two of us in separate rooms, living separate lives.
Stefan had a whole new reality spreading out in front of him.
A new family. A son. And his first love, safe and sound and back in his arms where she belonged after all these years.
I thought I was done crying, but the moment my head hit the pillow and I imagined my life without Stefan, imagined him choosing Anja, choosing a life with her and their son, the tears came again.
I was completely, utterly alone. My cries echoed off the empty walls of the guest room, and as I felt myself drifting off to sleep I tried to convince myself that it was for the best. That what Stefan really needed right now was his space.
Maybe our marriage was already over.