My Father Fell in Love with a Woman Who Ruined My Life – Story of the Day

College student Anya's fresh start is shattered when she realizes her new stepmom is Rosalyn, her cruel high school English teacher. Rosalyn's subtle digs reopen old wounds, plunging Anya back into depression. How will Anya save herself this time?

The café buzzed quietly with people talking and coffee cups clinking. I sat by the window, enjoying my flat white, looking at the autumn leaves outside.

I was reading a new novel and thinking about the characters when my phone buzzed. It was a message from my dad saying, "Let's catch up, love. I have some news." I felt nervous but replied, "That'll be nice, Dad. I'm at Gino's right now."

Soon after, my dad walked into the café, and behind him was a woman I recognized from my high school days, Ms. Rosalyn, my old English teacher who had been very strict and unkind.

"Dad, we know each other," I said as I introduced her. "Rosalyn was my English teacher in high school."

"Is that so?" Dad asked, surprised. "What a small world! Well, uh, she is my new wife."

Rosalyn reached out to shake my hand. "Anya, I remember you well," she said in a smooth voice.

We sat down, and Dad, unaware of our past issues, started to talk about how he and Rosalyn met at an alumni mixer and clicked right away.

We talked about the weather, books, movies, and other light topics, but I felt uncomfortable. Dad didn't know that Rosalyn had made my high school years very difficult.

My mother divorced my father a year before Ms. Rosalyn had arrived in my life as a tormentor, and he and I had grown apart at the time, so he had no idea about Ms. Rosalyn and my history.

After a while, Ms. Rosalyn excused herself, and I knew I had to tell my dad the truth.

"Dad, there's something you should know about Rosalyn," I said carefully. "She was the teacher who made my life very hard in high school."

Dad looked surprised just as Rosalyn returned. The tension was obvious, and I worried about what would happen next.

The next day, after a Sylvia Plath lecture about depression, I was sitting in a small grassy area outside the humanities faculty building when a girl with curly hair sat next to me.

"Anya, right? I'm Lila. We have many classes together," she said, offering her hand.

"Yes, that's me," I replied, managing a small smile.

"You seemed upset during the lecture. Is everything okay?" Lila asked.

"It's a long story," I said, hesitating.

"I've got time," Lila encouraged.

I took a deep breath. "Yesterday, I found out my dad secretly married my high school English teacher. She was very mean to me, and he doesn't know it."

Lila listened as I told her more about my past troubles with this teacher. "That's intense," she responded.

"It feels really bad," I admitted. "I don't know how to tell him. I've been in therapy for years because of her."

Lila suggested talking to a therapist again or discussing it with my dad. "I tried talking to him, but he didn't understand," I explained.

"Depression is tricky," Lila said.

"Thanks for using the word 'depression.' Most people avoid it," I told her.

"I wish I could help more," Lila said sincerely.

A week later, Dad and Rosalyn decided to have a family reception to celebrate. I tried to avoid her, but she approached me at the party.

"Anya, dear, how delightful to see you," Rosalyn said with a sly smile.

"Likewise, Ms. Rosalyn," I replied, forcing a smile.

"Call me Rosalyn. We're family now," she insisted.

"That doesn't sound right," I responded. “I am so used to addressing you as Ms. Rosalyn; it will be hard to change that! But I'll try."

Later, I slipped away to my room to read. Unexpectedly, my bedroom door creaked open later, and there she was — Ms. Rosalyn.

"Anya," she slurred — perhaps drunk on Moët & Chandon — standing at my bedside. "You can't avoid me forever."

"I'm not trying to," I said.

"You and I have unfinished business," she declared.

"Please get out of my room. You are not welcome here," I said firmly.

"Oh, we'll see about that, missy. Don't take that tone with me," she spat and then turned tail and left. I wrapped myself deep into my duvet, covering my head, and made a silent wish for her to die.

For weeks after that, I struggled under Ms. Rosalyn's harsh presence, feeling overwhelmed and hopeless. Anxiety and depression threatened to overwhelm me as nightmares disrupted my sleep. I withdrew into my room, fighting my inner demons alone.

One night, as I gazed at the moonlit window, contemplating running away, I reached a breaking point. "I don't know how to go on," I whispered.

At that moment, I envisioned my mother, who was traveling in Europe. Her comforting voice reached out to me, "Don't despair, my love. This, too, shall pass. You are not alone."

Her words sparked a faint hope within me, lessening the darkness of my despair.

But soon, two-year-old memories flooded my mind...

Ms. Rosalyn's cruelty in the classroom was unbearable. "Anya, you lack the intellect for English," she sneered after one class, undermining my confidence. And it just got worse with every lesson she took.

Her mocking tone always echoed in my mind, affecting my self-esteem and happiness. My world lost its color, and I felt trapped in a cycle of self-doubt and fear.

I started losing weight drastically, indulging in junk food only to force it out later. Sleep brought no relief; nightmares haunted me, featuring Ms. Rosalyn's taunting face.

Isolated and desperate, I once considered ending my pain permanently. But I couldn’t gather the courage to do so.

Ms. Rosalyn didn’t change. During every class, she targeted me with disdain. "An-ya, do you even understand literary concepts?" she would ask sharply, emphasizing my supposed incompetence.

When I struggled to respond, she dismissed me with a cruel "Pathetic, just as I expected."

She enjoyed highlighting my failures and took pleasure in my distress. Her constant belittlement eroded my confidence daily, making school a place of torment and fear.

***

One evening, my dad suggested we eat at my favorite restaurant. But the dinner with Ms. Rosalyn only made things worse.

"Rosalyn, maybe we can start fresh?" I proposed cautiously.

She replied mockingly, "Oh, Anya, a fresh start from what?"

Of course, she didn’t wait for my answer.

"Anya, your outfit is quite... unique," she commented, then added, "You look pale. Are you eating enough?"

Her words brought back painful memories of her past cruelty. I managed a weak smile and said, "I'm fine, just tired."

My dad looked at our forced smiles and thought we were making progress, but I felt the old wounds reopening with each of Rosalyn's sharp comments.

"How's college? Managing to keep up?" she prodded.

"Yes, I'm managing," I answered, forcing a smile.

She laughed. "That’s quite the accomplishment for you."

I said nothing, glancing at my father. I could see he was growing concerned with the turn our conversation was taking. He looked at me worriedly and scrutinized his wife more carefully as she continued to provoke a response from me.

For the rest of the evening, I didn't utter a word.

One evening, as I was about to go to my room after dinner, Ms. Rosalyn's manipulative tactics reached a climax.

"You're spending a lot of time alone. Is everything okay?" she asked.

I calmly responded, "I like being alone. It helps me focus on my writing."

Rosalyn scoffed. "Avoiding something, are you?"

My dad finally noticed the tension. "Is everything okay between you two?" he asked.

I stayed silent, which made him more concerned. At another strained dinner, Rosalyn noted, "Anya hasn't eaten much."

Dad finally confronted her. "Rosalyn, I think your behavior is affecting Anya. She seems sad."

He turned to me, worried. "Anya, what’s wrong? Are you okay?"

Tears filled my eyes. "No, I’m not okay, Dad," I admitted. "It’s Rosalyn. She makes me feel worthless, like she did in high school."

I finally spoke up about my feelings."She must know I'm more creative and talented than she'll ever be, and she feels she has to put me down to feel powerful."

"That's ridiculous!" Rosalyn snapped back. "You are no threat to me. How dare you accuse me of such things?"

My father was furious with Rosalyn. "How dare YOU! You were supposed to be her mentor, not torment her!" he shouted.

Rosalyn tried to dismiss it as harmless teasing, but Dad didn't buy it. "We're leaving, Anya. Rosalyn, you should be gone when we return."

Taking my hand, we left the house together, leaving Rosalyn stunned.

Word spread quickly about Dad and Ms. Rosalyn break-up. Everyone agreed Rosalyn was never right for Dad. She fought the divorce but lost. Soon, she moved out quickly and quietly. But that wasn't all.

With Rosalyn gone, our home felt peaceful. Dad supported me through my healing. My friends helped, too, bringing laughter back into my life.

I began writing again, using it as therapy to express and process my feelings. It made me stronger and more hopeful about my future.

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