My dad remarried last year, and I hate his new wife. She doesn’t see me as her own daughter, and I get that because I’m really not. But what I don’t understand is why she sees me as some sort of competition. To make things worse, she keeps calling me the wrong name even after correcting her. When the opportunity came, I decided to teach her a lesson that caused her embarrassment.
Carla’s not subtle about her favoritism. She’s always arranging little outings for my stepsister and Dad, almost as if she’s trying to craft her perfect little family tableau with me as the outsider. But what really grates on me is how she insists on calling me by my second name.
An annoyed woman | Source: Pexels
“Eunice just sounds more distinguished, don’t you think?” Carla once remarked over breakfast, buttering her toast as if she hadn’t just dismissed my feelings. “It’s Jessica,” I corrected her gently, not wanting to start my day with a conflict. “It’s the name Dad loves, and it’s the name I love. Please respect that.”
A woman eating breakfast | Source: Unsplash
She flashed a patronizing smile and continued as if I hadn’t spoken. Stepsister Jessica kicked me under the table in solidarity, rolling her eyes at her mom’s stubbornness. Thank goodness she is nothing like her mom.
Last Saturday, an exciting run-in happened at the supermarket. As we were shopping, Carla spotted her boss a few aisles over and made a beeline to introduce us. She saw it as a moment to show her familial love; I saw it as an opportunity to teach Carla a lesson.
A woman in a grocery | Source: Freepik
“This is my stepdaughter, Eunice,” she announced, gesturing grandly in my direction.
I continued grocery shopping as if I had not heard a single thing. “Eunice!” she called again, louder, trying to catch my attention.
Ignoring her felt like the only power I had at that moment, so I pretended to be fascinated by a display of exotic fruit, examining a particular piece as if it held the secret to world peace.
Carla stormed over, her face a mix of embarrassment and irritation. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my boss!” she hissed, her voice low but fierce. “Why didn’t you answer me?”
A woman grocery shopping | Source: Pexels
I continued to go about my business like I didn’t hear anything. “Eunice!” she said three times, before finally saying, “Jessica!” I then looked at her with a smug face. “Yes, Carla?” I calmly replied.
“I’ve told you repeatedly, my name is Jessica. I don’t know why you insist on calling me Eunice, but I won’t answer to it. It’s disrespectful,” I added
A woman with a subtle smile | Source: Pexels
She sputtered a response, but I walked away, feeling her eyes burning into my back.
The aftermath was chilly. When my dad got word of what happened, he tried to mediate. He went to me and laughed about it. “Maybe she can call you Jessi, and her daughter Jess?” he offered, trying to bridge the gap.
A happy man | Source: Unsplash
I appreciated Dad’s attempt but shook my head. “It’s about respect, Dad. It’s not just about my name; it’s about acknowledging who I am.”
Carla’s birthday party a few days later was the true test. The house was filled with her friends and colleagues, and I braced myself for another round of “Eunice” introductions. But something had shifted in Carla after our supermarket showdown.
Garden party setup | Source: Pexels
She began the introductions, her voice cheerful as she gestured to her daughter. “This is my daughter Jessica,” she started and then turned to me. There was a brief pause, a moment of tension where the air felt thick.
“And this is my stepdaughter…” she trailed off, her eyes flicking to mine, a silent battle being fought. Finally, she exhaled and continued, “…Jessica.”
A mom and daughter smiling at each other | Source: Pexels
It was a significant moment. Stepsister Jessica squeezed my hand under the table, a grin spreading across her face. We shared a look of relief and triumph. For the rest of the evening, Carla made an effort to call me Jessica, and though it was clearly a struggle, it meant the world to me.
Two people holding hands | Source: Freepik
It’s not all smooth sailing yet, but it feels like a corner has been turned. Standing up for myself taught me that change is possible, even in the most stubborn hearts. And maybe, just maybe, Carla’s heart is softening a little towards me, too.
Like Jessica, another woman did not get along with her stepmother.