My Step mother

My Stepmother When my stepmother first came, her eyes were sharp and bright as little knives. Her youth and my childhood ran into each other - she was the victor. Althought my father was still alive, I felt orphaned, depressed and alone, crying by myself, grew up alone. In the first year of peace, everyoe drifted. My father went out - returned with gray hair. I have my father to compensate me for the loss of my childhood. Sometimes vague envy found father stitting in silent expectation... A decade goes by. My stepmother is still as beautiful as at first, though older. She returns to ask my father to forgive her mistake: My half sister has another half sister. My heart was no longer jealous - I ony felt sorry for my half sister, who was really too young... I hoped she would not find herself once more on a tipping wagon. My father died, rain poured down in the courtyard. My tears gleaned some contentment: Mother anf father together now, forever. After that she aged quickly, solitary, silent as a shadow, her eyes no longer sharp as knives. When my son entered the world, she was the first to carry him, she who changed him the first time, placed him in the gently rocking hammock. My half-sister asked her mother, only helf-joking, Will you favor my first child this way? Lullabies contain no riddles and tears run down forever. My stepmothers silent eyes smiled brightly when my son threw himself into her arms: "Grandma!"