Fake Account

Evil stepmother

I held the box and put it on the bed.

When I open it, the first thing I find is a glossy piece of paper, and when I lift it, I find my outfit.

Underwear sets.

Lingerie.

And of various styles.

Running my fingers through the fabrics, I decided on a simple but small black garter thong.

I take off my everyday underwear, and then I'm dressed only in my little panties and nothing else.

I look at my body in the mirror, which is illuminated by the dim light of the lamp.

I carefully observe my flat abdomen and my marked waist that are in tune with my hips.

I raise my eyes, making a tour of the relief of my ribs until I reach my bare breasts, my round breasts.

After taking a tour of my body, I adjust my loose hair a bit, I go to look for the camera, the removable memory that I always use with these photos, and my tripod.

I arrange everything and program the camera without the flash and on the timer, pointing it towards my white wall, it is my favorite because it has no decorations and it is a pristine white, which, with the attenuation of the ligth lamp, gives it a very softer.

I put a three-second timer between each photo, with a total of ten photos in different poses.

Once I stand in front of the wall, I count a few seconds until the first photo.

1...

2...

3...

So, after a few seconds, I finished with the photos.

I take off my thong, put it in the white box, and hide it under my bed again.

Then I put on gray pajama pants that I like and a black T” shirt several sizes larger. I let my brown hair down and lay on my bed to watch a movie and wait for my parents to arrive.

I think if they or anyone knew about my secret, I would be broke. That's why no one around me knows.

═══════════● ❤ ●═══════════

I open my eyes, and the last thing I remember is waiting for my parents to arrive with their Monday pizza and ice cream.

But I remember a small detail when I felt my abdomen crunch.

I did not eat.

I dress in black leggings and a black sweatshirt with two white lines on each sleeve, and I go down to have breakfast at 7:10 am. My father and his wife are still at home, they go to work at 8.

My father and his wife are lawyers in a prestigious law firm in the city. They earn very well and are in high demand.

Roberto, my father, is a somewhat rude, undemonstrative, and serious person. But that's only with me, since with my sisters, or my half-sisters, it's not like that, but it's more demonstrative. I think that his attitude towards me is because he is very influenced by Angela his wife. Which angel has nothing more than appearance, is blonde with a pale complexion and big blue eyes, just like my sisters. On the other hand, I am more similar to my father because I have black hair and honey eyes like his.

Whenever my dad tries to be friendly with me, his wife makes some sarcastic or negative comment. She hated me from day one, and sometimes I try to understand her because I don't think it was the most beautiful feeling to find out that her husband was unfaithful to her with the babysitter, and even more so, to find out that I was born from that infidelity.

I remember well when my mom got sick and had to show up with me at the Tyson family door one day. I only knew that I had a father, only that he sent us alimony and a lot of money. But when I met him, everything changed in my life.

When I leave my room, I go to the kitchen, where my father and stepmother are having a coffee and looking at some papers.

I walk to the fridge and look for an apple to eat something because otherwise, my stomach is going to end up eating my pancreas. I sit at the other end of the kitchen island and eat my apple calmly while looking at my phone, flipping through some of the OnlyFans messages that Rocco, a friend of mine from the school newspaper, answers for me. I usually see him on Wednesdays, when we go to the art room, once all the students leave and we stay to write the newspaper and he takes some pictures of me for the account and of him.

My father watches me eat the apple and flips through the phone and gives me a nod of greeting. That gesture doesn't go unnoticed by Angela, who looks at him out of the corner of her eye and ignores him.

My father is tied to what Angela wants because he is in love with her, he is her lap dog, he loves her and I know it. Gisele, my mother, was just a mistake in her life. I know because I've heard him tell her.

He slept with my mom for being an i***t, because he was an i***t reverend.

Angela had lost a pregnancy when Marisa was about six years old, and she did not want to have s*x with him. They argued about everything and almost separated. So Roberto, my father, sought comfort from my mother, who was Marisa's babysitter.

Sometimes it hurts me to think that I was the product of a betrayal.

I would like to understand but I can't because she hates me and she has made it clear.

I hate her.

She is the embodiment of all the evil stepmothers from the storybook movies. And from their perspective, I am the ogre who came to tear down their fairytale castle, although I am not to blame for my parents' mistakes.

My mother, well, she was a girl, she had just turned twenty and Roberto was forty. To say that he took advantage of her would be an exaggeration because my mom fell for him. And he promised her the sky and the stars.

Nor can I judge my mom for getting into a marriage, because whoever is free from sin casts the first stone. Yes, I can judge her for not staying with me, for choosing her husband and his son instead of me.

My mom was a kindergarten student when she got sick, so her older sister hired her to be her daughter's babysitter.

You trust the family.

And your husband is not expected to sleep with your younger sister and have a daughter with her whom he kept secret and supported for ten years.

I went to the same school as Marisa and now Dulce goes because my dad paid for everything hidden from Angela, he paid for my birthdays, my photography and English classes, he bought me a bike, he paid for vacations and health insurance.

But I knew him until I was ten years old because my mother decided to make a deal with my father and hide me so that my father's reputation and perfect marriage with Angela would not be overshadowed.

For many, I am the niece of my father and Angela, who adopted the poor daughter of a sister with a sister of schizophrenia.

"How's asked, Dad?" I asked after finishing my apple.

His response is a curt "Fine," without even looking up from the papers.

Instead, Angela looks at me contemptuously.

"Can't you see we're a busy girl?" the woman asks.

I looked her up and down, trying to get my gaze into her gloomy soul.

"No one spoke to you," I replied mockingly.

I see my father looking at me with reproachful eyes and I decide to take another apple from the fridge. I don't insist anymore, because I don't want to bother him, since I already know how this ends. His little wife is always right.

I decide to go for a walk with my headphones on while looking at the houses in the neighborhood.

I always go to the park that is two blocks away and walk around the block until I get tired and go home.

The sky has occasional clouds and there is a soft but cold breeze that brings with it some brown leaves. We are entering autumn and there is nothing more beautiful than jumping into the clumps of dry leaves, but it is still too early for it.

I observe the few people who walk in the park. Many of them are athletes or old people who go for a little walk enjoying the last warm days.

Although we are entering autumn in the park, there is only one flowering tree in the park that resigns itself to following the cycle of the seasons. The other trees have green leaves that will soon dry up, but this one refuses to let its flowers wither. I love that tree, it's called pink lapacho and it has beautiful flowers, it's very similar to the Japanese sakura tree and it beautifully adorns the park and I always try to take the occasional flower, but thanks to my short stature, I never reach the branch lower even if it jumps.

I walk while my fingers drum my legs to the rhythm of the music until I can't take it anymore. I walked towards the center of the park, passing by the gazebo where an old couple was looking at the birds that sang in the treetops.

I continue my course towards the tree with pink flowers with the full intention of taking a photo of it and uploading it to my personal i********:. I have done that a hundred times but I love it.

When I get to the side of the tree, I lean back against its firm trunk and take a couple of photos of its branches and flowers. Time passes and I look at the tree. I remember when Mom brought me to this square when I was little. She loved this tree too.