In this emotionally charged story, a teen grapples with the arrival of her future stepmom and the complicated emotions that come with it. Between rebellion and acceptance, she navigates a new family dynamic while discovering her own path.
I’ve never been one to follow the rules. Not when I was younger, not when I was growing up, and certainly not now, at 19. So when it came to calling my future stepmom, Mariana, by a title that didn’t feel right to me, I didn’t think twice.
At least, that’s what I thought.
My name’s Katie, and I guess I should start by saying that I’ve never been very good at adapting to change. When my parents divorced, it hit me hard. I wasn’t the type to show it outwardly, but everything was different after that. My dad, Mike, and I never really talked much about it, but I could see how it affected him. And then came Mariana.
She was different from any woman my dad had ever dated before. She wasn’t like those bland, polite women who’d come in and out of his life after the divorce, the ones who would smile at me but didn’t quite understand me. Mariana was bold, confident, and beautiful, the kind of woman who walked into a room and immediately commanded attention. And if I’m being honest, I hated her for it.
See, I’d known Mariana a lot longer than she was my dad’s girlfriend. Back when my mom and dad were still together, Mariana was my after-school dance tutor. She’d been one of the few people who encouraged my passion for dance when no one else took me seriously. I spent hours after school in the studio with her, learning the grace and precision that only she seemed to have mastered. She was a guiding light in those days, before everything changed.
But that was then, and this… this was now.
I could tell something was different when Mariana and my dad started hanging out more. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe they were just reconnecting as friends, maybe she was just another one of his dates. But then, a year after their divorce, it happened.
Mariana sat me down one evening. My dad had gone out to grab some dinner, leaving us alone in the living room.
“Katie,” she began, her voice unusually soft, “I need to talk to you about something.”
I didn’t like the serious tone in her voice. My stomach tightened as I turned to face her.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now, and I think it’s time,” she continued, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I’ve always had feelings for your dad. Ever since I first started working with you and your family. I’ve always had a crush on him. And I want your permission to ask him out.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My mind raced. I didn’t know what to say.
But before I could open my mouth, she quickly added, “I don’t want you to feel weird about it, I really don’t. You’re important to me, Katie. I’ve always cared about you, and I want to make sure you’re okay with it before anything happens.”
I was silent for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. The thought of my dance tutor, the woman who’d spent so many hours teaching me, being with my dad—it felt like a betrayal.
“I guess you can do whatever you want,” I muttered, not really meaning it but knowing I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t in control here. I wasn’t the one who made the rules about who my dad could date.
And that was the start of the mess.
A few months later, they were together. Mariana and my dad. I wasn’t thrilled, but I put on a good face. I pretended everything was fine, that it was just another part of the process, like how kids get used to a new teacher or a new coach. But deep down, I didn’t want her in my life. I didn’t want to share my dad with anyone. Especially not with her.
Fast forward to today. I should be happy, right? I mean, it’s been over a year now. They’re engaged, and everything is moving faster than I ever thought it would. But what no one seems to understand is that there’s still so much tension under the surface. The new dynamics in our family aren’t as easy as everyone pretends.
I had to deal with her more and more, and one thing became clear: she had expectations. She wanted me to call her Mom. Not just a title out of respect for my dad, but an actual, “Mom” title. Something about her didn’t sit right with me.
“Why don’t you just call me ‘Mom,’ Katie?” she asked one evening, as we were sitting down for dinner. She wasn’t angry, but there was an undeniable plea in her voice.
I put my fork down, my eyes meeting hers, and I tried to smile politely. “I’m not ready for that, Mariana.”
She looked at me, and I could see the disappointment on her face, but it quickly turned to frustration.
“I’ve been here for over a year now, Katie,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “I’m not just your dad’s girlfriend. I’m going to be your stepmom. You can’t keep calling me by my first name forever.”
“But I don’t want to,” I shot back, a bit more forcefully than I intended. “You’re not my mom. You’re not even close.”
Mariana sighed, pushing her plate aside and standing up. “Fine. I won’t force it. But this is my house too, and I’m trying to be patient with you, Katie. But don’t you think it’s time we start acting like a family?”
I froze. Family. The word hung in the air like smoke, suffocating me. We weren’t a family. Not yet. Not with her here, always trying to step into my mother’s shoes.
“I’ll call you Ms. Garcia,” I said, standing up too. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of calling her mom—not yet. Maybe not ever.
Her face darkened. “You don’t have to keep calling me Ms. Garcia, Katie. But fine. Keep up the distance, if that’s what makes you comfortable.”
I could see the hurt in her eyes, and I knew that hurt wasn’t just for me. It was for my dad. Because in her mind, she thought she was doing everything right. She thought she was trying, but it felt like she was trying too hard.
Then, came the night before the proposal. I should’ve seen it coming. After everything, I should’ve expected the twist, but I didn’t.
I walked into the living room, the smell of dinner hanging in the air, and found my dad sitting on the couch with Mariana, both of them deep in conversation. I stood there, unnoticed for a moment, but something caught my eye. A small box on the coffee table—shiny, square, and undeniably an engagement ring box.
I froze.
“What’s that?” I asked, my voice coming out sharp.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” my dad said, quickly trying to cover it up. But his face said it all. I wasn’t stupid. I knew exactly what it was.
“Are you planning to propose to her?” I asked, my heart pounding in my chest.
Mariana looked at me for a moment, and then, as if she had no choice, she answered, “Yes. We’ve been talking about it.”
I couldn’t control my reaction. “Don’t you think that’s a little quick?” I hissed. “You’ve barely been dating a year, and you’re already planning to get married?”
My dad didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he glanced at Mariana, then back at me. “It’s our decision, Katie. We’re happy.”
“And you think this is the best choice for you? For us?” I said, my voice trembling. “How long do you think it’ll take before you get tired of each other?”
The room went silent, the tension hanging thick in the air.
“I’m doing this because I want to be with her, Katie. And if you can’t accept that—if you can’t accept us—then you need to figure out what you really want out of this family.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I thought this would be the moment I could say everything I’d been holding in. But instead, I clammed up. I couldn’t speak. How could I?
The proposal itself was a simple moment. It didn’t need much fanfare. But when it came, I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but that terrible, hollow ache in my chest. My dad had chosen her, and I couldn’t stop him.
The next day, when Mariana came over to show me her ring, I gave her a small smile.
“You’re not my mom,” I whispered under my breath, though I wasn’t sure why I said it. Maybe it was to myself.
But when I looked at her—really looked at her—I saw someone who wasn’t trying to replace anyone. She was just trying to love. And maybe that was all I needed to realize.
“You’re still not my mom,” I said one last time, but this time, I wasn’t angry. I was just sad.
Mariana nodded, understanding, and gave me a small, knowing smile.
“I’m still going to try,” she said.