Recently, my daughter has become unpredictable, often shifting between extreme excitement and deep disappointment, all because of something her teacher said. After pressing her about it repeatedly, she finally confessed, telling me, “Mom, you’re a bad mom. I wish my dance teacher were my mom instead.” “If only Mrs. Drake were my mom, Dad would smile more, too.” I frowned, my instincts as a woman screaming inside me. That woman was trying to seduce my husband and was attempting to manipulate my daughter. My name is Lauren Simmons, and I’m 31 years old. I’m married, the only child of a small business owner, and I hold an MBA from a prestigious program abroad. I currently work as the marketing manager for my father’s company. To outsiders, my life seems like a dream: the daughter of a successful businessman, highly educated, married, and a mother. But deep down, I’m full of insecurities, largely shaped by my experience growing up in a single-parent household. I often come across as distant and cold to others. And when it comes to family life, I’ve never been as invested as I am in my career. My husband Brian is attractive and successful, and our daughter Sophia is sweet and well-behaved. But the one imperfection in my otherwise ideal life is that, after giving birth, I immediately dove back into work, missing the critical window for postpartum recovery. As a result, I still have excess skin on my stomach and a noticeable C-section scar, which has always been a source of regret for me. Brian never seemed to mind. He would always wrap his arms around my waist and whisper, “Babe, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me.” He had said this to me twice before: once during our wedding vows, and once after the difficult birth of our daughter, when I was bleeding out due to her breech position. I still remember being in the ICU, my eyes blurred with tears and the stench of blood clinging to me. I asked him then, “Do I look awful, honey?” And just like before, he kissed my hand without hesitation, assuring me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. His tenderness and love had sustained the quiet warmth of our marriage, keeping it steady but never too intense. Now, our daughter Sophia is four years old and attending Bluebell Preschool. Brian has embraced his role as both a great dad and a responsible husband. While I’m often busy with work, he works the late shift as a software engineer, so he’s usually the one picking up Sophia after school. One day, I got a notification from a parenting forum on my phone. It said the most important thing for a child’s growth is the parents’ presence. Guilt washed over me. I realized it had been far too long since I spent quality time with Sophia. So that afternoon, I left work early and called Brian. “Honey, I’ll pick up Sophia today. Bluebell Preschool, Middle Group, right? I go in through the east entrance, don’t I?” I had to admit, I hadn’t been doing enough when it came to spending time with Sophia. Brian only picked her up from school because my work hours clashed with hers. But when we got home, I was the one who always cooked dinner. I had even gone out of my way to get a certified nutritionist license, all to make sure I could cook balanced, healthy meals for them. I rarely went to pick Sophia up from school. The only time I’d been there was for a parent-teacher meeting, and I had gotten the time wrong. Brian didn’t pick up his phone, so I stood there for an hour and a half, confused, until I saw the other parents trickling out of the building. Sophia, with her little backpack, spotted me, her eyes widening in surprise. When she came over, I quickly took her backpack and said, “Mommy’s been waiting here for you.” She pouted, “Mom, you’re so silly! Today we had extra dance practice, and you didn’t even know!” I crouched down, full of guilt. Brian hadn’t told me, so I came at her usual pick-up time. That’s when I noticed something on her lips—a little oil from something spicy. It was barely noticeable, but as her mom, I caught it immediately. As a certified nutritionist, I was strict about Sophia not eating junk food. Hot Cheetos and potato chips were off-limits, even though she loved them. I grabbed her little hand and sniffed it. She had washed her hands, but the scent of food additives clung to her skin, even under the soap. My face darkened. “Sophia, did you eat Hot Cheetos?” Seeing that I was upset, her expression deflated, but she stubbornly refused to admit it. “Haven’t I taught you to be an honest little girl? Don’t lie to Mommy, okay?” I tried to stay calm. Kids her age didn’t need harsh punishments, but firm guidance. With my gentle coaxing, Sophia finally spoke up. She said Mrs. Drake had given her the Hot Cheetos, but only to her. Mrs. Drake told her not to mention it to her parents or her friends. “If only Mrs. Drake were my mom, Dad would be happier,” Sophia said with a pout. My brows furrowed as I tightened my grip on her tiny wrist, anger simmering in my voice. “What did you just say? Do you know how much it hurts me to hear you talk like that?” She yanked her hand away, tears welling up in her eyes. She grabbed my water bottle from my hand and threw it on the ground, breaking it. “She buys me fried chicken and Hot Cheetos! She plays with me! You don’t give me anything I want!” I stood frozen, staring at my normally sweet daughter, who was now throwing tantrums and breaking things. I began to realize how much I had failed in my role as a mother. My daughter actually thought another woman would make a better mom. But in her innocent way, she had also told me something shocking: my husband had shown affection for another woman.
And this woman, in order to win my daughter over, had been doing everything she could to charm her. This Melissa Drake, the dance teacher at Bluebell Preschool, had been in Sophia’s class since she was little. I’d seen her once in a class photo and jokingly told Brian, “Look at this teacher. She’s so pretty and youthful, like one of the older kids.” Brian had laughed, “She’s thirty already! But I’ll admit, she’s kept in great shape. Used to be a yoga instructor. Her kid’s around three now, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.” I’d had a flash of surprise at how much Brian knew about her, but I shrugged it off. After all, he was the one who picked Sophia up from school. It made sense that he’d hear things. Looking back, it all seemed so obvious now. But growing up in a fractured home had made me cautious and insecure. Without concrete proof, I didn’t want to ruin the peace in our family. Maybe Sophia was just saying things out of anger. Maybe Mrs. Drake had a family of her own. She was, after all, a teacher. I tried to reassure myself, worried that my suspicions were just baseless paranoia. In a few days, there would be the School Talent Show, and Sophia was performing a dance number, led by none other than Mrs. Drake. I decided I would go see her myself, to find out what was really going on. By June, the heat in our small Southern town was already unbearable. I couldn’t bring myself to wear a dress, so I stuck to my usual button-down and cropped pants. My C-section scar and the stretch marks that snaked down my legs still made me incredibly self-conscious. When I arrived at Bluebell Preschool, I saw her immediately—the woman who was smiling so sweetly by the stage. Even without filters or makeup, she looked just as stunning as she had in the photos, embodying the “slim and youthful” beauty standards to perfection. I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her for a moment. She was gorgeous. If only I hadn’t thrown myself back into work so soon after giving birth, maybe I wouldn’t be so different from her. Melissa Drake was wearing a white crop top and had her hair tied in cute little pigtails. Her slim, curvy figure was even more striking up close. She was crouched by the stage, gently encouraging the children. “All right, sweeties, have you memorized your steps for the performance?” “Yes—ma’am!” they shouted in unison. The most excited of all was my daughter Sophia. Her little pointed fairy ears were perched on her head, and glittering purple eyeshadow made her big eyes sparkle. I stood in the shade, watching her—the one thing in this world I loved more than anything. As for what had happened in the past few days, all I felt was guilt and shame. After a long night of thinking, I decided to adjust my work schedule. I would spend more time with Sophia. I needed to be part of her childhood, not some other woman. Then, Melissa Drake noticed me and walked over with a beaming smile. “Hello there! Are you here to see one of the kids? Why not take a seat in the audience?” Up close, her body looked even more striking, with her tiny waist and a sparkling belly button ring. I forced a smile. “Uh, I’m Sophia’s mom.” The look on her face froze for a split second, and I caught a glint of something sneaky in her eyes. “Her grandma?” she asked sweetly. I frowned. Sure, I hadn’t bounced back after having a baby, but I didn’t look that old. “…No, I’m her mom.” She put on a show of surprise, her voice still syrupy. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I just thought—since some of the other kids’ grandmas look so young too. I guess it’s because Sophia’s dad usually picks her up. I don’t see you very often.” Her comment, laced with passive-aggression, brought me back to reality. I knew why I was here now. Things were starting to make sense. No wonder Sophia liked her. This kind of woman, with her charm and sweet words, could easily win anyone over. Thinking back on what Sophia had said the other day, I couldn’t help but feel disheartened. I took pictures of Sophia’s performance, my camera focusing on her small, happy figure. But out of the corner of my eye, my gaze lingered on Melissa Drake’s smiling face. She was also thirty… but she looked so much better than I did. The way Sophia had gravitated toward her terrified me, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes. If my suspicions were true, my daughter would be so happy to have a beautiful, kind stepmom like her. And Brian would be even happier. So what was I? Just something to be discarded when I was no longer useful?
I spent the next several days in a daze. Something felt wrong, but I didn’t want to confront it directly. Even Brian started noticing my distance and asked, “Honey, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” I shook my head. He was perfect. Too perfect. There was nothing I could blame him for. But the calmer the surface of a lake, the more you suspect the currents hiding beneath it. Two weeks passed, and I tried to put everything out of my mind. My new project at work had me completely swamped, but I didn’t complain. After all, my boss promised that once I wrapped up this deal, I could finally take some time off. Time I could spend with Sophia. On Tuesday, a rainy day, just before I was about to finish work, I got a call from the preschool’s phone. On the other end, Sophia’s small voice sounded excited. “Mom, you don’t need to pick me up today. I’m going to Emma’s house for a birthday party. Her mom is coming to get us.” “Oh,” I replied, a little caught off guard. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could’ve helped you pick out a birthday gift. It’s not polite to show up empty-handed.” Sophia’s voice grew proud, “Mrs. Drake already took me shopping. She helped me pick out a crystal music box. It cost over 800 dollars!” Eight hundred dollars? I was stunned. Why was a preschool teacher helping my daughter pick out such an expensive gift for a birthday party? Mrs. Drake again. Whenever Sophia talked about school, she could hardly stop talking about that woman. It was like she’d been bewitched. I had even asked some of the other kids at school, and they all enthusiastically told me that Sophia was Mrs. Drake’s favorite student. “She always praises her. If someone else messes up their dance steps, they have to stand in the corner, but not Sophia. Mrs. Drake is so gentle with her.” But I knew better. Sophia had no particular talent for dancing and was often lazy about practice. All these thoughts were making me uneasy. I softly reminded her to stay safe before she hurriedly hung up the phone. I sat there holding my phone for a long time, my mind racing. I turned to my coworker and asked, “Can you take over and finish this report? I need to leave early for something important.” She hesitated, “Lauren, you’ve been handling this overseas project. Even if I wanted to help, I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. I don’t want to mess things up.” My mind was a tangled mess, but I still didn’t want to neglect my work. I didn’t want to let my boss down. So I stayed until after 8 PM, working frantically to finish the project. Without even stopping for dinner, I rushed out to pick up Sophia. I pulled out her class contact sheet and found Emma’s address at Ridgewood Heights Estate, building 13. I drove straight there. Emma’s house was enormous. The doors were wide open for the birthday party, but strangely, no one was around. The housekeeper told me that Emma and the other kids had gone to Lakeview Park to watch the tide, but my heart skipped a beat. “What about Sophia?” I asked. “She’s the one with the red polka-dot dress and pigtails.” The housekeeper thought for a moment, “Oh yes, I saw her. Mrs. Drake brought her. They didn’t go to the park though—they’re still inside, talking in one of the rooms.” While everyone else was out having fun, Mrs. Drake had kept my daughter inside? What were they doing? A terrible feeling crept over me. Ignoring the housekeeper’s protests, I hurried inside, clutching my purse. I stopped outside the only room with voices coming from inside, furrowing my brow as I strained to hear what was happening.
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