Quite the Stepmother in the Making

Blinded by rage, I made a beeline for the café, but as I was about to enter, my phone rang—it was Angel's kindergarten teacher, informing me that Angel had fallen off the slide and was sent to the hospital. Panic-stricken, I ran to hail a cab and rushed to the kindergarten. On the way, I called George to let him know about our daughter's accident.

We arrived at the hospital one after the other and found Angel in the emergency room, crying herself hoarse, drenched in sweat. My heart felt as though it was being ripped apart as I took her into my arms from the teacher, hugging her tightly and looking her over while berating the staff for their negligence.

George, as anxious as I was, inquired about Angel's condition from the doctor, who explained that thankfully, due to her young age and flexibility, and because she had landed on foam padding, she only suffered a large abrasion on her forehead and a mild concussion. She needed to be hospitalized for observation, especially since she had vomited upon arrival.

Angel's teacher was in tears, constantly glancing at George, and the principal was there, apologizing profusely. Although displeased, George maintained his composure and rationally asked about the circumstances of the fall. The principal explained that she had been pushed off the small platform of the slide by a boy nicknamed "Little Fatty."

Hearing this, I was filled with terror—imagining the height of at least a meter and a half. "How exactly do you watch over the children? We parents trust you with our kids, and this is how you supervise them?" I roared, unable to contain my anger.

My outburst shocked George—I had never been this hysterical before, and even Angel in my arms was startled, beginning to cry again.

George quickly comforted me, and the principal, full of guilt, scurried about to complete the hospital admission process and get Angel settled into a room.

Just as we had settled down, Monica called, asking where I was. I was speechless—how could she not know where I was? Still, I told her about Angel's fall and that we were at the hospital.

Before long, Monica rushed into the room, frantically asking about Angel's condition. George was also in the room, and both appeared nonchalant, but I could see the subtle exchange in their eyes. George, in particular, seemed nervous.

I suppressed my feelings, pretending ignorance, and casually asked Monica, "You finished with your meeting so quickly?"

"Yes, it wasn't anything important," Monica replied dismissively, then asked, "Did you call me for something specific?"

"No, it's just that I'm an idle person. George mentioned he hadn't seen you in a while and thought we might have lunch together today," I said, staring intently at Monica.

She glanced at me and calmly responded, "Hey, we can have a big meal once Angel's better, my treat!"

After speaking, she reached out to gently stroke Angel's head, speaking softly, "How does that sound, sweetheart? When you're feeling better, you tell Auntie Monica what you want to eat, and I'll buy it for you."

Angel looked up with her watery eyes, nodding sadly with her swollen forehead.

I instinctively brushed Monica's hand away, thinking bitterly to myself. What a perfect stepmother figure she was, already laying the groundwork, trying to win over my child. I wasn't ready to relinquish my place to her yet!

Monica seemed to sense my coolness and looked at me in confusion, softly asking, "What's wrong with you?"

Before I could respond, George stepped forward and explained, "She's just upset."

He then placed his hand on my shoulder, applying gentle pressure, and soothingly said to me, "Honey, don't worry. The doctor said it's nothing serious. After observation, we'll be able to go home."

Home!

That word triggered something in me, and I lost control. I stood up, pushed George away, and ran out of the room, sobbing uncontrollably.

This home, like a delicate piece of porcelain, was riddled with cracks and could shatter at any moment. The would-be stepmother was already brazenly asserting her presence. Monica followed me out as Angel began to cry loudly inside the room.

"Grace, what's wrong? Don't scare the child!" Monica grabbed my arm, "Even if you're unhappy, bear with it for the child's sake!"

"Bear with it? How can I?" I roared back at her, glaring furiously at Monica, who was visibly taken aback.

Realizing my outburst, I tried to regain composure, but I was visibly shaking, my lips quivering, "You better go back. We're fine, you're busy, don't let us hold you up."

With that, I sidestepped her, wiped away my tears, and returned to the hospital room.