The Young Stepmother's Survival Guide

The first snow of 2018 marked the arrival of winter, plunging the world into a deep freeze. My life mirrored this sudden drop in temperature, spiraling downhill in a way I hadn't expected.

The man I had dated for three years-whom I believed to be my one true love, my destined partner-left me for another woman. She wasn't as attractive as I was, but she came from money, and he didn't hesitate to dump me for her.

Fresh out of college with a degree in accounting, I had finally landed a job after much effort. But three months into my internship, just as I was expecting a permanent offer, my male supervisor hinted that I'd need to "do something extra" to secure the position. Disgusted and fed up, I quit without a second thought.

These two blows-"cheating ex" and "workplace harassment"-were punches I couldn't dodge. They left me bruised, battered, and reeling.

For me, life's hardships came in sudden waves, like stars scattered in the dark skies of chaos.

Walking alone in the snow, with my savings drained, I made a vow to myself, "No more struggling. I'm going to marry rich!"

Two months later, I did exactly that. I had a whirlwind romance with a bank executive I met online, and we got married after just two months of dating.

Oh, right, I should introduce myself. My name was Grace Harper, and my new husband was Alfred Reed.

As for me, despite my humble origins, I'd always carried myself with a certain poise. Years spent devouring books in the library gave me a refined air. At 24, I was in the prime of my youth-elegant, radiant, and exuding a fresh charm.

Alfred, on the other hand, was over forty. His face bore the marks of time and hardship, with deep wrinkles adding years to his already unimpressive appearance. His greasy complexion, protruding belly, and stocky frame made him resemble a pudgy caricature, standing shorter than me to boot.

My friends didn't shy away from teasing me, saying I could have done so much better.

But I didn't care. Alfred was wealthy, had a decent personality, and treated me exceptionally well. During our courtship, he showered me with gifts-a three-bedroom apartment for my parents, a car for me, and lavish displays of affection.

I was content, even grateful. Love wasn't part of the equation, but I had no regrets about marrying him. After all, in the face of financial security, love could step aside.

However, Alfred had kept some things hidden from me. For one, he had two daughters from a previous marriage. These girls-whom he had assured me didn't exist-were very much alive and wreaking havoc in his home.

His excuse? He claimed his first wife, Marlene Atkinson, had died in childbirth, and they had no children together. That latter part, clearly, was a lie.

But deception aside, life had to go on. I moved into Alfred's house, taking on the role of the lady of the house. Complaining or staging dramatic protests about his kids wasn't my style.

The real trouble began when his older daughter decided to put me in my place shortly after the wedding.

The younger one, Luna, only two years old, was a sweet and easygoing child. The elder, Leah, however, was seven and a handful. Having lost her mother, she clung to memories of her and lashed out in grief-fueled defiance.

According to Alfred, Leah had always been difficult-spoiled rotten by his late wife, who indulged her every whim. Over time, she became a bratty, headstrong "little princess."

There was a saying that went, "Some people don't have the life of a princess but still catch the princess syndrome."

That described her perfectly.

I was soft-hearted and conflict-averse, so I didn't dare discipline her. Every time she threw a tantrum, I endured it in silence.

But the first day I visited Alfred's house before our marriage, she made sure to let me know I wasn't welcome.

That day, as I walked through the door, Leah greeted me with a frosty glare. The cheerful expression she'd worn earlier disappeared in an instant, replaced by a look as cold as steel. Her hostility was palpable, but I decided to cut her some slack-she'd lost her mother, after all.

Determined to win her over, I thought, "Kids love sweets. Maybe I'll buy her some treats to break the ice."

So, I went to the nearest grocery store and filled a large bag with goodies: potato chips, cookies, popcorn, and chocolate-everything a child could want.

I returned to her room with great enthusiasm, carrying the bag of snacks. I placed it on her desk, smiling warmly.

She didn't even glance at it. Without a word, she walked to the desk, her small hands reaching the bag. She yanked it off the table with some effort, shuffling across the floor like a small animal struggling with a load far too heavy for it.

Confused, I watched as she dragged the bag out of the room and left it beside the tall trash bin by the front door.

She then attempted to lift the bag and dump it into the bin. To her, however, it was as heavy as a mountain. After several failed attempts, she flew into a fit of rage.

Her small eyes widened into angry orbs, her cheeks flushed bright red, and she began stomping on the bag with both feet. As she jumped and stomped, the sound of the bag ripping and snacks cracking filled the air.

In less than a minute, the entire bag of snacks lay utterly destroyed, a flattened pile of crumbs.

The smile froze on my face, hanging awkwardly for a moment before I regained my composure.

Standing beside me, Alfred scratched the back of his head, visibly embarrassed, and forced a sheepish grin.

I mirrored his awkward smile, moving my lips just enough to appear polite. Seeing my calm reaction, he muttered apologetically, "Leah is... like this. Her mother spoiled her rotten. Don't take it to heart-you'll get used to it. In time, I'm sure she'll warm up to you. She still needs your care, after all. Luna is much better. If you don't believe me, come and meet her."

With that, he led me to meet his younger daughter.

The little one, only two years old, wore a diaper and had her hair styled in a tiny braid. She crawled around aimlessly on the floor, much like a playful kitten.

Noticing a streak of snot running down her small nose, I pulled out a handkerchief and crouched down to gently wipe it off.

Alfred's expression softened into a relieved smile. Seeing how well I got along with his younger daughter, the room seemed to lighten. The harmonious scene soothed his frustration over his eldest daughter's behavior, and his mood visibly improved.

However, Alfred, despite his mild demeanor and unassuming appearance, was not one to let things slide. Practical and sharp, he quickly deduced the fault lay with the nanny.

He turned to the nanny, who had been standing nearby, and scolded her sharply. "What kind of job are you doing? You're supposed to take care of the kids, and you don't even notice when her face is dirty? Is that what I'm paying you for?"

His stern words left the nanny trembling, her face pale with fear.