“You ruined him!” accused my new husband’s ex-wife.
“Mum, why does Oliver have a different last name?” asked James, flipping through his stepbrothers school diary.
Charlotte froze over the pot of beef stew, the ladle hovering in her hand. The question hung in the air like a taut string. James sat at the kitchen table, doing his homework without looking up, waiting for an answer.
“Because he has a different dad,” she answered quietly, stirring the stew.
“Wheres his dad?”
“He lives separately.”
James finally glanced up from his notebook, studying his mother with sharp eyes. At eleven, he understood more than Charlotte wished he did.
“Why does Oliver cry at night sometimes?”
Her heart clenched. She knewof course she knew. Seven-year-old Oliver often whimpered in his sleep, face buried in his pillow. The child psychologist said it was stressdivorce, a new stepfather, an unfamiliar home.
“Hes still getting used to us,” Charlotte said, turning off the stove.
“I liked David straight away,” James remarked. “Hes brilliant, isnt he?”
Charlotte smiled. Yes, David *was* brillianta wonderful husband and father. After her first divorce, shed raised James alone for three years, working double shifts, falling asleep exhausted over his homework. Then she met David at a parents eveningalso divorced, raising his son, Oliver.
Their relationship had been slow, cautious. Both feared another mistake, another heartbreak. But love had outweighed the fear.
“Lottie, Im home!” David called from the hall.
“Dads back!” James grinned, darting past her to greet his stepfather.
Charlotte watched him go. James had embraced David effortlessly. Oliver hadnt.
David entered the kitchen, kissed her temple, and wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Hows it going? Wheres Ollie?”
“In his room. Davidwe need to talk. Emma called.”
His face darkened. Emmahis ex-wife, Olivers mother. Every call from her was a storm.
“What now?”
“She wants Ollie this weekend. Says hes changedwithdrawn, struggling in school.”
“And you said?”
“What *could* I say? Of course he can go. But she implied” Charlotte hesitated.
“Implied what?”
“That its my fault. That Im cold to him.”
David exhaled heavily and sank into a chair.
“You know thats rubbish. Youve tried *everything* with him.”
“Tried, but has it worked?” Her voice cracked. “James accepted you immediately. Oliver still flinches when I touch him.”
“Give him time. His situations different. James remembers you struggling alonehes glad youre happy. But Oliver had both parents. His world shattered overnight. And Emma *poisons* him against you.”
She knew. After their wedding, Emma had declared war. She couldnt bear David moving on.
“Remember our wedding?”
David winced. How could he forget? Emma had stormed the ceremony, demanding Oliver back. Shed screamed that Charlotte had stolen her familynever mind that David had divorced her *months* before they met.
“Shell never stop,” he muttered. “But well manage. Just keep her away from the boys.”
Oliver appeared in the doorwaysmall, fair-haired, eyes downcast.
“Ollie, dinners ready,” Charlotte said gently.
He shuffled in, sitting as far from her as possible. That familiar sting*what am I doing wrong?*
“How was school?” David asked.
“Fine,” he mumbled.
“Miss Higgins said youve been distracted.”
Oliver shrugged.
“Anything bothering you?” Charlotte ventured.
He shot her a glance, then looked away.
“Its fine.”
“Ollie, Charlottes just trying to help,” David said patiently.
“Shes *not* my mum!” Oliver burst out. “I *have* a mum! A *real* one!”
Charlotte paled. Davids fists tightened.
“Oliver, *apologise.*”
“No! Shes *not* family! I dont *want* to live here! I want *Mum*!”
He bolted. A door slammed.
Charlotte covered her face. David pulled her close.
“He doesnt mean it.”
“He *does.* And hes right. I *am* a stranger. No matter what I doI broke his home.”
“Lottie, dont. Emma and I split *long* before you.”
She knew why. Emma had cheated*boasted* about it. Said marriage suffocated her. But when David filed for divorce, shed panicked. Suddenly fought to save it. Too late.
“Oliver doesnt know that. To him, *I* ruined everything.”
“Hell understand when hes older.”
“And until then, Im the villain who stole his dad.”
James peeked in.
“Mum Ollies crying.”
She looked at David. His eyes mirrored her helplessness.
“Ill talk to him,” he said.
“No. Let me.”
She knocked on Olivers door.
“Ollie? Can I come in?”
“Go *away*!”
“Please. I need to tell you something.”
Silence. Then a tiny, “*Fine.*”
He was curled on his bed, back to her. She sat on the edge.
“Want to hear about *my* dad?”
No reply. But he was listening.
“My parents divorced when I was eight. Dad left for another woman. Mum married Uncle Mark later. Know what I did?”
Oliver shifted slightly.
“I *hated* him. Thought if I was horrible enough, hed leave and Dad would come back. I broke his things, screamed, threw fits. Poor Uncle Mark. And Mum cried every night.”
Oliver turned fully now.
“Then what?”
“Then I grew up. Realised Dad left *before* Uncle Mark. He just fell out of love. Uncle Mark *chose* us. Wanted us happy. But I realised too late.”
“Too late?”
“He died when I was sixteen. I never thanked him. Never said I loved him. Even though hed been more of a dad than my real one.”
Her voice broke.
“Auntie Lottie” Oliver whispered. “Do you want me to *forget* Mum?”
“No, sweetheart. Never. Youll always have *one* mum. I just want us to be okay. I dont want to *replace* her. I just want to be your friend.”
He was silent a long time.
“You wont make me call you Mum?”
“Never.”
“And if I miss Mum you wont be mad?”
“Of course not. Thats *normal*.”
He sat up.
“Can I tell you about her sometimes? How nice she is?”
“*Always*.”
“And will you tell me about Uncle Mark?”
She smiled through tears.
“Absolutely.”
—-
Emma arrived Saturday in her sleek Jaguar. Charlotte watched from the window as Oliver climbed in, beaming. Emmatall, polished in a designer coatwas everything Charlotte wasnt.
Oliver waved eagerly. Charlotte waved back, forcing a smile.
David hugged her from behind.
“Hell come back.”
“I know. Shes just *her*. And Im”
“And youre *you*. And hell see that.”
Sunday evening, Emma returnedbut this time, she marched upstairs with Oliver.
Charlotte opened the door. Emmas face was fury.
“We need to *talk*.”
“Oliver, go to your room,” Charlotte said softly.
“No!” Emma snapped. “He *hears* this.”
David emerged.
“Em, whats”
“*This*.” She yanked out a notebook. “His school essay*My Family*. Listen.”
She read, voice shaking:
*”My family has five: Dad, Charlotte, James, me, and my real mum, Emma. Charlottes kind. She cooks my favourites and helps with homework. She doesnt make me call her Mum, but I know she loves me. I love her too. Emmas pretty and has nice dresses, but shes always busy. Charlottes home when I get back from school”*
Emma slammed the book shut.
“You *did* this! Turned him *against* me! Made him call you”
“I *never*”
“*Liar!* You *bought* him! And now *this*acting like *Im* the bad mum!”
“Emma, *calm down*,” David cut in. “He wrote the *truth*. Charlotte *is* there when”
“Oh, and *I* dont work?! I have a *career*! I cant *play housewife* like *her*!”
“I work too,” Charlotte said quietly. “I just”
“Just *stole* my son
