“I opened the window so her soul could be released,” I said to my stepmother. I quivered with a certain amount of anticipation with what she would do next. I was always in a constant state of guessing when it came down to react to what I did. It seemed like she never did react the same way to anything. Sometimes she didn’t care what I did, somethings she yelled and screamed and sometimes she pretended like I didn’t exist.
I personally enjoyed my life more when she pretended I didn’t exist. I could come and go as I wished and could read and paint with no one bothering me. My father travelled on a regular basis and since I was an only child, I spent a lot of my time at home by myself. Which at the end of the day, I wasn’t too bothered by this at all.
I would rather talk to myself and the birds over the new Mrs. Meyer. My father had only told me a few stories about my mother and because I had only when been three when she died, I don’t have any real memories of her. When he remarried, my stepmother was doing her best to obliterate any memory I had of her. I think she is afraid I will have more good memories of my mother than I do of her.
Right now, all I wanted to do was to live my life in peace, without her interference.