Still not home

I hate being here. I hate needing to be here. I hate that my daughters need to be here. I know they hate it too.

I don't like him

I didn't know him well. My step-father. Not my step-dad. Tom Weaver was my step-dad. Tom Egan is my step-father. It's a title that he doesn't deserve. He's not parental. He doesn't care about parenting. He cares about order and his things and his space and his rules. He wants things done his way and wants everyone around him to know what his way is, without him enlightening the rest of us as to what his way is.
I have come to know him better in the last 2 years. I didn't like him before. Now I really don't like him. I admit that I actively dislike him. I'm sure he dislikes me as well.

Disappearing Mom

When Mom married Tom Weaver, she changed. It was subtle enough, and I was young enough, that I didn't notice as it was happening.
Then she and Tom Weaver divorced and suddenly, she was my Mommy again. I hadn't seen, or even remembered her, since I was eight years old, but I recognized her. She was doing things that she wanted to do. Things that she cared about. Not the things that were expected of her or wanted from her. What she wanted and enjoyed.
The she met Tom Egan, and Mommy disappeared again. I haven't seen her since.