Stepmothers Anonymous

My name is Abbeygail, and I am a wicked stepmother.

Actually, you can just call me Abbey and I wasn’t always a wicked stepmother. This isn’t the kind of thing you plan for, after all. You don’t wake up one morning and decide, “Oh, I think today I’ll become the scorn of all things good and the envy of all things evil.”

Nope. Somewhere between happily-ever-after and the possibility of facing life in prison comes the day when you realize, despite all of your good intentions, you are now the most loathsome creature in the world.

As of recently, my life has become very complicated. There’s much I’ve had to deal with, including incorrigible stepchildren, talking animals and malicious plots for revenge. Those kinds of things take a toll on you. I know all this sounds like an excuse, but it wasn’t like I actively chose it. Really, all I ever wanted was a simple life, a perfect and loving husband, and obedient and adoring kids—a fairy tale, if you will. And while you could describe what I got as “fairy-tale-ish,” none of it was quite what I hoped for.

There was a Prince Charming, of course, but he was more of a Frog Prince, with a wart for every issue.

The forlorn Princess in need of rescuing was really a mischievous troublemaker, while her Grandmother and Godmother were overly protective busybodies.

There were also wolves, dragons, tainted fruit, trolls and seven dwarfish men.

Oh, and let’s not forget about magic; no fairy tale is complete without it. And not the wimpy-illusion-pull-a-rabbit-out-of-a-hat kind of magic, either. We’re talking about the hardcore-potions-and-brew-psychokinetic-shape-shifting-witching-hour type of sorcery, the kind employed by those with visions of grandeur and ambitions of global domination.

Yes, my life has definitely become complicated, and all without the compulsory ‘happily-ever-after’ to seal the deal, because what wicked stepmother ever got a happy ending?

I guess I’m only reaping what I deserve, though. I mean, I’m not just claiming the ‘wicked’ moniker because I have a low sense of self-esteem. No, I plotted and schemed when it came to initiating revenge on those who were instrumental in humiliating me. I crashed the Governor’s ball, and took him and his distinguished guests hostage. And I am directly responsible for the destruction of the city and the death of the Governor’s daughter. If all that doesn’t scream ‘wicked,’ I don’t know what does.

Despite my willingness to label myself as such though, my story actually began very differently. My recent actions may have coincided with Election Night, but my sordid tale actually began some eighteen years ago with a man named Todd Bishop.

Todd was my first love. At the time I thought it was true love, but that was not the case… at least for him. He had a wandering eye and was on his second affair by the time I gave birth to our first daughter, Nicole.

To his credit, Todd remained faithful for a time, as Nicole developed into a sweet, smart, little girl; but I just couldn’t keep his interest.

You see, I am what some might call plus-size (fat, if you’re inclined to be politically incorrect); though I’ve been told I have a “pretty face.”

Still, when your husband is handsome, with sparkling blue eyes, shaggy brown hair and a striking body that makes women weak at the knees, a pretty face just isn’t enough to maintain a marriage.

How I ever attracted his attention in the first place is beyond me. I had no beauty routines, nothing that made me stand out in a crowd. I’ve had the same haircut since high school: chin length, never colored, never curled; my blonde tresses just hanging straight down and framing my face. I didn’t wear a whole lot of makeup—a little eyeliner, mascara, and some foundation. And because I’d always had issues with my weight, I wore belts, girdles, and control tops—anything to draw attention away from my amply-shaped body.

It wasn’t enough for Todd, though, and I did the only thing I knew got his attention before: I got pregnant again. Todd had been a doting father six years earlier with Nicole; certainly, he would be again.

But what I didn’t know was that he had already decided to leave; and following the birth of our daughter, Zoë, he did just that, taking the car, bankbook, and my self-esteem with him. I got full custody of our daughters and an occasional child-support check.

So much for happy endings.

I was now the breadwinner and sole parent to the two most precious girls in the world, doing whatever necessary to give them the best life possible—with or without a man. I didn’t date often and the ones who managed to catch my eye were not worth my time.

Meanwhile, my girls got older and wiser. Nicole was always on the principal’s list and always helpful with and protective over Zoë. She was constantly reassuring me we were okay without Todd, but she didn’t have it in her to lie convincingly. I could see the void he left in her and in spite of my best efforts, I couldn’t fill it.

Zoë, on the other hand, was my eternal optimist; there was little I found throughout the years that could keep her down. She was always busy and always hungry. And because she had never met her father, she was always on the lookout for an eligible candidate to take his place.

I’m sure she was disappointed with the lack of worthy contenders (fat or not, I still have standards).

Then a couple of years ago, we moved to the capital city. It was a welcome change. We found an apartment in a decent neighborhood, I got a job at a downtown law firm as a receptionist and the girls were enrolled in two of the best schools in the county (the Governor’s daughter attended Nicole’s high school, a raving endorsement in my book!).

Life was good and I was content.

Lonely and longing, but content.

Then Bradley Mauer walked into my life. He was handsome, charming, and he loved my daughters like they were his own. Our story should have ended with and we lived happily-ever-after, but it was, in fact, the beginning of all things wicked…