Last year my stepson went into my things without my permission, found erotic pictures of me on a memory card, blurted this out during a run-of-the-mill exchange about home work, and was later discovered to have showed them to the 13-year-old next door.

Given the whole story, Cary Tennis will rightly decide that this is the child’s way of registering pain and powerlessness. He will say that in an exercise of empathy, I should insert myself into the boy’s sneakers. He may suggest therapy for the wounded youth.

What he never harps on with letters like these (and there have been quite a few) is the genuine pain and embarrassment that stepmothers undergo, their comparative lack of authority and agency, and the means by which they are supposed to drum up the emotional resources for those save-the-children campaigns he is fond of suggesting. In fact, while the very compassionate Tennis demonstrates forgiveness and caring to all manner of miscreants, he is all tough love with stepmoms.

This is for the best. I wish I had the benefit of his opinion and those of his slew of caustic Salon readers to send me scuttling in the opposite direction when, five years ago, I decided to move in with my boyfriend of three years.

I understand and empathise with the LW. I, too, am in my twenties. My stepson is 14 years younger. I know what it’s like to love an older man and want to have a life with him. I suppose the difference between us is that I fooled myself into thinking that the child and I were developing mutual respect and affection over time.

But if the people with primary responsibility for a child have created a festering mess and you do not have the skills required to mop that mess up, then things degenerate in terrible ways. As you have no doubt deduced, you will get cast as the evil step mother and you will spend a lot of time, energy and emotion bleeding about something you are powerless to change.

You cannot psyche yourself up for an assignment like this. I respectfully submit that making an exit may be a good idea. And not just in the child’s interest.

I thought this was both readable and honest. Is it that readers aren't game to gain insight into anything they don't agree with? They want all the love stories to read like an Obama romance or they can't be bothered.

Both installments so far highlight how myopic and selfish we can be, and how heavily our notions of love are peppered with those flaws.

You would think Salon readers were paragons of virtue by reading their letters. Be advised that lesser mortals have feeling too.

Every year I'm away a handful of times times for work. Not for very long stretches. A fortinight at most. It's always a breath of fresh air for me. Of course we call each other and profess our heartbreak but, frankly, it's nice not to have to cook every night, or to go to sleep early or not to have to anticipate anyone's needs for a minute.

It doesn't mean you're any less in love. It just means that it's nice to have a break.

Of course his experience when I'm away is different in that, as Cary rightly says, he's got more to do with the house, children etc. That may be part of the reason he misses me so much. Come to think of it I'm always told how much my contribution is appreciated when I return from a longish trip.

Every couple should have time apart. Why not do something you ordinarily wouldn't? (Not scour her IMs or email, though)

to avoid telling the truth. Profound.