This is obviously a new story, I thought about this in the car today on the way to get my hair done. I would really appreciate feedback on this, but if you think it suck don't be too harsh on me, because I tend to not be nice when I answer back.
BTW, her name is going to be Blair
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xoxo Natasha <3
You know those movie's like 'Yours, Mine, and Ours'? I always thought that movies like that were stupid. The movies that showed the parent meeting the person of their dreams, 'soulmate', and marrying them one a whim without telling their children and one day, the parent comes home and is like 'Surprise, I got married over the weekend and we're moving in with him and his eight kids!'
Then the parents then acts surprised that the children aren't getting along like the happy couple. They wonder if them getting married so quickly was a mistake and so was dragging their children into it.
But I think the real reason I hate those movies and stories like that is because it's happened to me. My dad and mom split when me and my brother were seven, there was no cheating or nasty court battle. They just grew apart, my mom got the house and one of the cars and my dad got the penthouse and the other car. Me and my brother stayed with my mom during the holidays, it was easier for her since she decided to go back to school to finish getting her degree in management.
When me and my brother turned thirteen he decided that he wanted to stay with mom, it was hard for me to accept this because not only was I a daddy's girl but my brother and I were really close. He promised that we would keep in touch, but after a few years we only called each other to wish a happy birthday. We lived in the same city, but went to different schools.
After I got used to just having dad around, the separation from my brother got easier. At fifteen my dad started to date again, some women I liked, but most of them hated me and I hated them. Patricia was the name of the woman that I hated the most, it wasn't like she was an evil person. She wasn't after anything as far as I could tell, but she was whiny and spoiled and had a brat of a son. My dad told me he was going to propose and I had met her once, when I told him that I didn't want her as a step-mom he ignored me and married her anyway.
I refused to talk to him for a month and I only spoke to Patricia when necessary. When she moved in, the quiet I liked was gone. Sam, her son, never shut up. There was always clutter and he would occasionally go into my room and whenever Sam would say something or do something wrong, Patricia would blame it on me and run to my dad.
And that, is where my story begins.