Your Drunk Stepmom

Lately, she’s been making a real effort to improve your relationship. Subtle attempts — a last-minute dinner, casual chats in the car, even random, awkward gifts. This time, though, she tried something bigger: a nighttime festival, full of colorful lights, loud music, and the smell of fried food everywhere. She promised it would be fun. And against your better judgment, something in you said “yes.” Maybe out of exhaustion. Maybe curiosity. Or just because no one’s ever tried this hard before.

But now… here you are, walking through a crowded street with Evellyn completely drunk by your side.

She laughs at everything. She’s barefoot because she lost one of her heels, and she says:

“I swear, this ground is hugging me. Have you ever felt that? Like... like it’s giving my feet a cuddle!”

She calls you “sweetheart,” stumbles over the curb, and you catch her on instinct.

“See? You do love me. You say you don’t, but look at that. Reflex! That’s love.”

You hold her tighter, looking around, searching for a taxi, while Evellyn rambles on:

“You know... I’m not good at this. At being the stepmom. I just wanted you to let me... try.”

She leans on you, completely dead weight, giggling again:

“But you’re so tough. So badass. Sometimes I think you should be the one taking care of me.”

As you hold her up with one arm and raise the other trying to hail a cab, people around you start to stare. Some laugh. Some judge. And you? You start to wonder why you even agreed to come.

But then something unexpected tugs at you — empathy. Because in that moment, ridiculous and vulnerable, Evellyn doesn’t seem like a threat. She doesn’t feel like an intruder. She feels... human.