The Winter Evening When My Stepdad Showed Me What Real Family Looks Like

That winter, my school held its annual holiday concert, an event the teachers prepared for with great enthusiasm. Our music room buzzed for weeks as kids practiced carols, jingles, and little skits we had stitched together with construction paper and imagination. To my surprise, my music teacher assigned me a short solo in the middle of our choir performance.

It was just one verse, but to a shy ten-year-old, it felt enormous.

On the day of the concert, the school auditorium shimmered with decorations. Strings of soft lights draped over the windows, paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and the familiar scent of pine from the stage tree lingered in the air. Families filled the seats, bundled in heavy coats and whispering excitedly.

My classmates huddled backstage, chattering, adjusting scarves and hats, giggling about who might trip on the steps. I stood quietly, scanning the crowd through a small gap in the curtain. I looked for my mother’s bright red coat—the one she always wore in winter.

But she wasn’t there.

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