Chapter 3: The Manipulative Supporting Character

When I was five, everything changed. The world shifted, as if the floor gave way under our feet.

I saw another person with words above her head. For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming.

She was a very beautiful woman. After Dad picked her up from the airport, she cried in his arms. Her mascara left streaks on his shirt, her sobs echoing off the tile floor. The tile floor was cold under my shoes, the TV blaring some game show no one was watching.

Mom and I came home from preschool. The moment we opened the door, we saw them hugging. The TV was playing in the background, but all I heard was Mom’s quick intake of breath.

They were startled. Everyone froze—the kind of silence that makes you hear every tick of the clock and the blood rushing in your ears.

We were startled too. My hand tightened in Mom’s.

Dad tried to explain. His words tripped over each other, too fast and too many at once.

That woman tried to explain too. Her voice shook, and she clung to her purse as if it could anchor her to the moment.

Mom’s face grew darker and darker. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flat and unreadable.

I stared at the floating words: evil, manipulative, female... and one long word I couldn’t sound out.

My parents were busy, so I went to Nanny Linda for help. She was humming in the kitchen, as always, wiping her hands on her apron.

Finally, I found the word: supporting. I sounded it out, slow and careful, until she nodded. I thought maybe every family had secret titles floating above their heads—like superheroes, only invisible.

Manipulative female supporting character. The phrase wormed into my brain, catchy and rotten as a jingle you can’t turn off.

I asked Nanny Linda what those words meant. Her face went blank for a second, then she let out a laugh, big and surprised.

She nearly choked on her coffee, laughing so hard she had to dab her eyes with a napkin. “Oh, our Abby, how do you know about ‘manipulative female supporting characters’ at such a young age?”

She laughed and told the story as a joke to Grandma, Dad, and Mom. The dinner table felt smaller than usual, the air tense.

Usually, these kinds of jokes about me spiced up our dinners, making everyone laugh. Mom would squeeze my hand, Dad would roll his eyes affectionately, even Grandma would smirk.

But that day, only Grandma laughed. It was a sharp, brittle sound that made everyone else stiffer.

Dad’s face was sour. He pushed his peas around his plate, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Mom’s face was stern. She stared at her plate, barely touching her food.

The woman looked like she was about to cry. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, her hands shaking.

She set down her fork and said in a panic, “Lisa, I’m sorry, I’ll leave right away. I’ll never come back again.” Her voice broke on the last word.

She turned and ran out. The screen door banged behind her, a sound that echoed down the hall.

Dad hurried after her. His footsteps pounded on the porch, fading into the night.

Grandma’s smile vanished; her face fell. “Lisa, is this how you raise your child?” Her voice was cold, every word landing like a slap.

Nanny Linda quickly carried me away. She clutched me tightly, her arms safe and strong.

I felt like I’d caused trouble. Guilt crawled up my spine, making my cheeks hot.

But why was Mom the one being scolded? I pressed my face into Linda's shoulder, confused.

I insisted on asking: “What does ‘manipulative female supporting character’ mean?” I wanted an answer, needed to understand how something so silly could change everything.

Nanny Linda didn’t know how to answer. She bit her lip, looking away.

She could only sigh deeply. “In stories, the manipulative female supporting character is the one who tries to break up the hero and heroine. She usually pretends to be innocent and sweet to get sympathy, and then everyone helps her bully the heroine. But don’t worry, the ending is always good—the villain gets what’s coming, and the hero realizes the heroine’s worth and wins her back.” Her words hung in the air like a promise.

She sounded so sure, and I believed her. I clung to her certainty, like a child holding tight to a teddy bear.

But things didn’t go the way she said. Real life didn't follow the script.