Everyone said my stepmother was a witch. I thought she was misunderstood. She wasn't always nice to me, said it was difficult to look at me because I resembled my father, and she never got over his sudden death. Sometimes I would cry thinking of him, and she would stand in the doorway of my bedroom. I waited for her to embrace me or say something to comfort me, but she never did. She wasn't that type.
There was the time she baked an apple pie (my favorite) and it made me violently ill. Fortunately, I was able to call 911 before I passed out. I woke up in the hospital. The doctor said I must have consumed something toxic.
I stayed in the hospital for about seven days, had a great Doc and six wonderful nurses who took great care of me. They were all kind of quirky. One had allergies and sneezed all the time. One was constantly yawning. One was really goofy. One was really shy and never looked me in the eyes. The other two were complete opposites, one always smiling and happy, the other constantly scowling.
The police went to my house to question my stepmother, but she wasn't there. When I finally returned home, I realized all her stuff was gone. She had disappeared without a word. At first I was hurt and sad, but then I was happy at the thought of moving on with my life. I had just turned 18. My father had left the house to me. And the really cute EMT who took care of me in the ambulance had come to see me while I was in the hospital. We hit it off and he asked me out.
I can't eat apple pie anymore though.
Adorbs! Great fairy-spinning!
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