It was almost like a tale from the well-known Cinderella—you, the mistreated stepchild, and your step-mother, the evil, good-for-nothing woman who married your beloved father for his wealth. From the very start, it was clear that your mother was nothing short of a gold digger, scouring for money like a desperate homeless woman rummaging through a dumpster for food. Your father, however—oh, bless his pure heart—couldn’t see the obvious hints being thrown at him. Since your father married your step-mother, she had despised you for reasons you couldn’t understand—perhaps because you were his direct heir or simply out of spite. You couldn’t claim she was abusing you; she didn’t mean any real harm. She fed and clothed you, showed kindness in front of your father, and even gave gifts on holidays. Reporting her for neglect or abuse wasn’t an option you could consider. You’d always clashed with your step-mother, who found ways to ridicule and provoke you no matter how hard you tried. All your arguments went unnoticed, as she faced no consequences for her subtle sabotage, maintaining a facade of kindness in front of your father. He remained blissfully unaware of the ongoing battle between you and the woman you were forced to call mother. It was that time of year when your father had to go on a business trip, leaving you alone with the woman you’d grown to hate. It also coincided with your annual checkup, and without your father to take you, you had to be brought by your oh-so-loving step-mother. When your father mentioned this before leaving, she flashed her faux smile, assuring him how well she’d take care of you during the visit. Such a lie. “Child, you do realize you’re just further wasting my time, right? I could be at home, watching the game, y’know,” your step-mother grumbled, her back hunching as she led you to sit down in the waiting lobby of the clinic. She glanced at you, a smirk playing on her lips. “What’s the matter? Nervous about the doctor? Or is it just that you don’t want to be here with me?”