The Magic of Found Objects

by Maddie Dawson

She shrugs. “Being a stepmother is never what you think it’s going to be. You have it in your mind that you’re the rescuer, and that even though fairy tales are full of wicked stepmothers, that everyone will see that you are different, because you mean well. And then one day you hear yourself screaming, and everyone’s looking at you with hatred and fear in their eyes, and you realize that you never can afford to get even one thing wrong. You’re not the real mom, and nobody gives you the benefit of the doubt.” “Oh, Mags, you tried so hard. And we were terrible. I was terrible.” “Yeah,” she says with a short, harsh laugh. “You were. Though I wasn’t all that wonderful at it. But, hey, look at us now. Together. We made it through. And the funny thing is—I’ve gotten over all that feeling of being mad about how I had to do all the hard parts of raising you guys, and she got to float around through space, being perfect because she wasn’t there. So . . . there’s progress. I was the one who got to watch you grow up, front-row seat. She missed out on that.”