My daughter Emma turned nine last weekend. We had a small party with family, cake, and all the usual birthday fanfare. After cake, she started opening gifts, her excitement building with each present. She picked up a gift from my mother-in-law, Carol. “It’s from Grandma!” she said, smiling, and I swear I saw Carol smirk. I thought nothing of it at the time, just chalked it up to Carol being… Carol. Inside the gift was a silver photo frame that said, “Family Is Forever.” Harmless enough, right? Wrong. Inside the frame was a printed photo collage. It had Carol, my husband Brian, his sister, her husband and kids, even Carol’s late husband, everyone smiling at the lake last summer. It was a group shot from their annual family vacation. Everyone was there… well, almost everyone. Everyone except me and Emma. Even the family dog, Sparky, made the cut, but not us. Emma stared at it, her smile slowly fading as she took in the image. The happy faces of everyone *but* her and her mother. My heart sank. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Brian, to his credit, looked just as shocked and confused as I felt.
…………………………………………..
👇 [ CONTINUE READING ] 👇
…………………………………………..
Carol tilted her head slightly, a smug expression on her face, and said, “I just wanted her to have a family photo that actually makes sense.” The thing is, Emma isn’t Brian’s biologically. Her dad, my first husband, died in a car crash when she was two years old. It was a devastating time in my life. I met Brian about a year later, and he loved me through it. He stepped up and became “Daddy” to my baby. Emma has zero memory of life before him. She calls him dad, and he *is* her dad.
At least, he is to everyone except his mother, I guess. Carol has always been… difficult. She’s never truly accepted Emma as part of the family, and she’s made passive-aggressive comments over the years. But this… this was a new low. This was blatant, intentional cruelty.
Emma was still staring at the photo, her little face a mixture of confusion and hurt. Both me and Brian were about to speak, to intervene, to say *something*, anything to try and mitigate the damage Carol had just inflicted. But before we could, Emma set the frame down on the table with a soft thud.
She looked up at Carol, her eyes filled with tears, and said, “I have a dad. He’s right there.” She pointed at Brian. Then she turned to me, wrapped her arms around my legs, and buried her face in my dress. Brian shot Carol a look of pure fury. The party was effectively over. The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to comfort Emma and explain, as best as we could, that Carol’s actions were wrong and that Emma *is* and always will be part of our family. But the damage was done. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive Carol for what she did.
