Let this be a testament to the power of the Stepmom. Let this story flex the frayed muscles of hope and faith. Let this be proof of the unseen strings that tether us together like wild marionettes in perpetual flail. But held, somehow, in some unearthly palm. I watched Boeings slam the World Trade Center in English class while still raw from an uprooting, a divorce, and a new woman in our lives. My parents’…