Then, she’d end up crying even harder than I did.
But Tanya Cook, my stepmother, would stop my dad from comforting me and say,
“A child shouldn’t be spoiled. She needs to learn to stand on her own.”
Tanya only got really worked up when I actually got hurt. She’d fuss over me like she cared.
“Oh no, you’re bleeding! I told you to be careful! Didn’t you listen to me?”
She even told my teachers that I had some rare hereditary condition that made me bleed easily. And of course, she mentioned that I had Rh-negative blood.
The other girls envied me for getting out of gym class. They all thought I had the best mom ever.
But I knew the truth. I didn’t have any hereditary disease.
The real issue was Tanya.
She didn’t care about me, but just the blood I lost.
And she definitely wasn’t my mom.
My real mom’s name was Bella Fuller. She visited me every night, sitting by my bed and telling me stories.
Even as a little girl, I had already started plotting my revenge.
My mom, Bella, was an orphan, raised by the kindness of many families.
When she got to college, she started donating blood regularly.
That’s where she met my stepmother, Tanya, who was volunteering at the blood drive.