Dear Dad, Do You Know That Stepmother Is A Devil?

It took my dad a moment to snap out of it, and then he awkwardly changed the subject.

“So, what was your award-winning essay about?”

I pretended not to notice my stepmother’s hateful glare as I walked over to her with a big smile.

“I wrote about how amazing my mom was! How she raised me, even though she wasn’t well, and how she still donated blood, especially since she had Rh-negative blood...”

As my stepmother’s face darkened, I quickly reached out to grab her hand.

“Mom! Don’t be upset! I just combined a classmate’s story with your experiences for some creative flair...”

Suddenly, I screamed.

“Ah!”

The fruit knife in her hand had accidentally slashed my arm.

A long cut immediately started bleeding, badly.

And I had taken aspirin earlier.

The blood wouldn’t stop.

I collapsed weakly into my dad’s arms.

“Don’t blame Mom! It’s my fault. I made her upset again!”

“Are you crazy? Why are you taking it out on the kid?” My dad glared at my stepmother and rushed me to the hospital.

As expected, the hospital struggled to find Rh-negative blood quickly.

Panicked, my dad blurted out, “Tanya, you need to do it!”

My stepmother stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

“No!” I cried, tears streaming down my face.

“Dad, am I going to die? But I can’t drag Mom down with me!”

“You love Mom the most. I don’t want you to be sad! It’s okay if I die. Mom can have another, healthier child to love you both for me!”

My stepmother hesitated, her face pale.

Maybe my trembling hands threw my dad off because suddenly, he stood up.

I gave a subtle nod, and my mom, floating nearby, looked stunned.

With two sharp slaps, my dad hit my stepmother across the face.

“This is what you owe her!” he yelled.

“Now go give my daughter your blood!”