The torture continued for days while I died in silent jealousy. One night, my mind went wild, racing through a dozen scenarios, desperately plotting how to get him into my room, away from Mom. I needed him in my space, where the boundary between stepfather and daughter could finally blur behind closed doors. I was sick of pretending.

 

Suddenly, a wicked idea flashed into my mind. I quickly hiked my dress and let out a sharp scream.

 

Mom rushed in first, panicking. “What is it? What happened to you?” she asked, checking my leg.

 

“I banged my knee on the bed frame. It hurts, Mom,” I cried out.

 

“Is that...