The Stepfather's Schemes

At nineteen, I was still my stepdad's little treasure, pampered and protected.

He showered me with gifts, whipped up my favorite dishes, and made sure I was tucked in each night.

Even with a broken leg, he insisted on preparing my evening foot soak.

Everyone envied my relationship with him, yet they didn't know he never truly saw me as his daughter.

He took in his late friend's slow-witted son, a promise made long ago.

That son, after years behind bars, was about to regain his freedom.

***

As the steam rose, my stepdad hovered, asking, "Nina, isn't that too hot?"

I tested the water briefly and recoiled from the heat.

As I moved to add some cold water, he pressed down on my shoulders with one hand, fetching cold water with the other.

His face lit up with a grin as my feet settled into the perfect temperature.

Grinning, I thanked him, "Thanks, Dad."

He dried my feet and set down my slippers, chuckling, "Don't mention it. I did the same for Mikey, remember?"

"Mikey's about to be released, right?"

Staring at the moon, he mused, "Indeed, six years have flown by. How you've both grown!"

Post-foot bath, as I climbed into bed, he fussed over me, ensuring I was snug and secure before killing the lights.

Lying still, I knew he was watching. The slightest move and he'd be back, probing, "Nina, something on your mind? Come on, you can tell Dad."

Sick of this charade at nineteen, I craved independence.

His slow retreat finally granted me solitude, the sound of his dragging footsteps fading into silence.

Peering through a cracked door, I caught him commanding my mom to wash his feet, her compliance painfully clear as she kneeled before him.

An unexpected kick sent her tumbling, the water basin clattering to the ground.

She hurried to fetch more water, her attempts to soothe him evident as she gently lifted his foot.

Yet another kick met her face, water cascading down her, her clothes clinging desperately to her frame.

He sneaked a glance my way before dragging her off to their room, his words trailing behind him, "If it weren't for your daughter, why would I marry you?"

I buried myself under the covers, my hand finding the reassuring shape of a knife beneath my pillow.

My mom's marriage to him was a transaction made a decade ago, orchestrated by my eager-to-sell grandparents.

My biological father, a violent alcoholic, left her mentally scarred from his assaults—her beauty marred, her expressions those of a haunted figure in a thriller.

His accidental overdose—an ironic escape from our debt-ridden existence, left us to fend off the daily threats alone.

While others my age were escorted to school, I navigated a life dodging danger with my mother.

Resentment towards Mom's weak spirit and unlucky streak grew within me.

When my stepdad first saw her, like the others, he initially recoiled in disgust.

But catching a glimpse of me, pretending to study nearby, sparked a different interest.

"I've always wanted a sweet daughter," he beamed, sealing our fates with three thousand dollars.

That was what the deal cost him, and my grandparents agreed to send us to him.

His secluded, rural home was a stark contrast to any semblance of normalcy, its entrance marked by a young man with a cigarette.

Squatting, he pinched my cheek and stammered, "Little lady, grow up fast... to marry..."

I was afraid and started sobbing.

My tears prompted a stern slap from my stepdad, "She's Nina. Everything good is hers to share now, understand?"

He tried to offer me the cigarette, but as I coughed from the smoke, his grin widened, revealing stained teeth.

He lowered his hand and left my only nice dress with a burn hole.

Known simply as Mike, he had been part of the household.

Some villagers told me, since his father, my stepdad's best friend, who had once saved my stepdad's life, had died, leaving his care to my stepdad. My stepdad treated Mike like his real son because of his sterility.

Labeled the village idiot, even my stepdad conceded his limitations, though I saw through the act—his troubles often shielded by feigned stupidity.

He was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to drinking, gambling, and womanizing. A middle school dropout with a stutter, he played the obedient kid in front of the elders. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but bold enough to come off as a fool.

His sinister glances towards me were restrained only by the respect he held for my stepdad.

Eventually, his misadventures led him to trouble that couldn't be ignored.

Six years of reform and incarceration gave me a temporary reprieve from his looming presence.

It was also when my stepdad showed me the most kindness, tethering me to a life restricted within the village boundaries and cutting short further education.

He even got Madam Lewis, the local psychic, to back him up, claiming I'd meet with misfortune if I left the village before I turned twenty.

The moment I so much as stepped near the village boundary, some nosy neighbor would be watching me like a hawk.

Now, with Mike's impending return, the village buzzes with anticipation, my stepdad's pockets heavy with the proceeds from sold livestock.

My nightmares, it seemed, were set to resume.