When Sophie, my seven-year-old soon-to-be stepdaughter, began waking up early to prepare breakfast and clean the kitchen, I was touched at first. She seemed proud and cheerful, a tiny whirlwind in rainbow pajamas, stirring pancake batter and setting the table before sunrise. But as the mornings continued, and her dedication grew more intense, a quiet concern began to settle in my chest.
One morning, I found her standing on tiptoes at the kitchen counter, carefully measuring coffee grounds. The room smelled of fresh brew, the counters gleamed, and she turned to me with a proud smile. “I wanted everything to be ready when you and Daddy woke up,” she said sweetly. Her enthusiasm was clear, but something about her urgency didn’t feel like simple play.
I gently offered to help with breakfast the next day, but Sophie shook her head quickly. “No, I like doing it,” she replied with a brightness that felt more like responsibility than fun.
Later, when David walked in and praised her as “quite the little homemaker,” I caught a tone in his voice that made me pause. Something told me this wasn’t just about pancakes.
Continue reading on the next page…