I named my daughter Eva after my mom. I thought my stepmom would smile, maybe get a little misty-eyed and say something polite. Instead, she exploded. “It should’ve been my name,” she snapped. “I’m the one who raised you!” I stood there in the hospital bed, sore and exhausted, clutching this tiny new life in my arms while my stepmother made my daughter’s name about herself. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I just turned my face toward Eva and let the moment pass. For weeks after that, she ignored me. No texts. No calls. No “how are you feeling?” or “how’s the baby?” It hurt more than I expected. We’d always had a complicated relationship, but she did show up for the practical things—rides, lunches, school paperwork—after my mom died. She’d never be my mother, but she had been there….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW