When I was five years old, my stepfather was my savior, my hero. He rescued my mother from a horrible abusive marriage to my biological father. My stepfather swept us both off our feet with his boyish good looks, intelligence, and his generosity. When he married my mother right after my seventh birthday, I was the happiest kid in the universe. Even when my two sisters and brother were born, I never felt like an outsider. When he introduced the family to anyone, it was always, "these are my four children." I was his daughter, and eventually I changed my last name to his and felt honored to carry his family name.

Over the years my relationship with my biological father improved, and I saw him and spoke to him on a regular basis. Still, my stepfather was the one I came to with homework questions or school problems. He was the one I went to for advice, and it was with him that I went to the Father-Daughter Dance in high school. When I met the man of my dreams, it was my stepfather who walked me down the aisle, while my biological father sat in the first row and watched.

Then things slowly changed. My stepfather and my mother grew apart, and eventually divorced. The divorce turned nasty. I heard stories of unspeakable acts he committed, and learned he was not the man I once thought he was.

He betrayed me. I felt so incredibly torn! All of a sudden the man who was my hero, my knight in shining armor, became the villain. I felt so guilty for hating my stepfather for what he did to my mother. After all, he had rescued me years ago. He raised me as his own, and made sure I had everything I needed and wanted. What was I to do?

At the end, my loyalty remained with my mom. She remarried, and even though she had a new man in her life, kept taking care of her second husband (though I never ever will understand why). She cooked for him, did his laundry, and even helped him pick which outfits to wear when he started to date. It was strange, but it seemed to work for a while.

Then my stepfather met his current wife. She seemed so nice and kind at first. Then after they were married, things went downhill fast. Suddenly I was excluded from family functions. At first my stepfather tried to make excuses, saying I wasn't invited because it was assumed I would not want to attend, since I was married and had a child. Then the excuses stopped. There were no more phone calls asking how I was doing, or how my only son was. When a custody battle began over my youngest sister, the papers that were drawn explicitly stated that my stepfather had three, only three children, and that while I did change my last name to his, he had never officially adopted me. I no longer had a place in his new life, and I was brokenhearted about it.

After much therapy, I am happy to report that I don't need my stepfather or his affection anymore. He is the one missing out on knowing his sweet, brilliant grandson. I am surrounded by family and friends who love me and always will. Never again will I look at the photo of my stepfather and me on my wedding day, and cry. And someday, when the custody battle is over, when my mother is no longer afraid of the repercussions should the truth be told, I will confront him, and it will not be pretty. All my anger and my resentment, all the sadness will come pouring out, and I will feel liberated. Until then, these feelings must be confined to my heart.

Learn more about this author, Yonit Schoolman.
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