**The Man Who Called Himself Father**
“You can call me Dad,” he said, but Emily never did.
“Mum, are you taking his side again?” Emily stood rigid before her mother, lips trembling as tears threatened.
“Emily, what do you mean, *again*? And besides, youre wrongcompletely wrong!” retorted Irene, her voice sharp.
“Mum, those were *my* groceries! We had an agreement, and Im not made of moneyI cant feed some stranger!” Emily protested, tears now spilling over.
“Ungrateful brat! I raised you, fed you, and now you begrudge a bit of cheese and ham?” came the slurred shout from the living room, where Nigel, her stepfather, lounged half-drunk.
“Exactly! Have you no shame?” Irene echoed.
Emily closed her eyes. The tears wouldnt stop. Lately, her life had become a waking nightmare.
…Her real father had left when she was barely three. As Irene later confessed, she and Williamthat was his namehad never loved each other. A fleeting affair, an unplanned pregnancy, and Williams parents had pressured him into marriage. But love couldnt be forced. They lasted two miserable years before he packed his bags and vanished.
Irene devoted herself to raising Emily. Just the two of themuntil Emily turned twelve. One morning, Irene sat her down.
“Emily, youre old enough to understand” Irene began carefully.
“II suppose,” Emily mumbled.
“Ive met someone. I love him. Were getting marriedhell be moving in soon. I hope you dont mind.”
Emily wasnt thrilled. But she knew kids at school had stepdads. It happened. No one died from it.
Then Nigel arrived, and she hated him instantly. His greasy smirk, his loud voice, the way he *looked* at her.
“You can call me Dad,” he announced.
Emily nodded silently. She never called him that.
From day one, Nigel made his philosophy clear: *”I wasnt spoiled, so neither will you be.”* And just like that, Emilys life became a cage.
“Mum, Im going to the library with Hannah, then well walk home,” Emily said one afternoon.
“Who do you think you are, giving orders? Irene, you letting this brat walk all over you?” Nigel sneered.
“Im *not* a brat!” Emily shot back, but Irene just kept washing dishes, silent.
“Youll get one hour. Not a minute more. Late? Youll stand in the corner on dried peas. Learn some respect!”
“Mum, I *am* going!” Emily insisted.
“Emily, listen to your father. Hes the head of this household,” Irene murmured.
From then on, Emily waited for one thing: Nigels business trips. Then*freedom*. Friends over, peaceful evenings, no yelling.
…Six years passed. Emily turned eighteen, got into university. She dreamed of dorms, independence, escape.
But reality crushed her.
“Dorms are for out-of-town students. No spaces,” the admin said.
“Shouldve gone to Leeds,” Emily muttered, trudging home.
By September, shed befriended two classmatesboth desperate to move out. They found a flat to split three ways.
“Mum, I want to live on my own. Closer to uni, and”
“*Absolutely not!* Next youll turn the place into a brothel! Flats, boysyoull forget about studies!” Nigel cut in.
“Not your business!” Emily snapped.
“You live under *my* roof! Your mums on half-pay, my wages got cut, and *you* want a flat? Not a *penny* from me!”
“Ill *earn* it!” Emily screamed, slamming her door.
But evening jobs were scarce. The dream faded.
Then, one morning, noise in the hallway. A stranger hugging Nigel.
“Emily, meet my son, Danny. Lived with his mum in the countrysidenow hes moving in.”
“*Where?* Weve only got two bedrooms!”
“Ill crash on the kitchen fold-out. For now,” Danny smirked.
Emily was horrified.
“Mum, how will four of us fit here?”
“Well manage. Theres always room.”
“Are you *serious*?”
“Emily, Nigel pays the bills. I wont fight him. Danny stays.”
Now the kitchen was his bedroom. No breakfast in peace. Nigel and Danny always at the table when she returned.
“Oi, sis! Join us!” Danny called one evening.
“Piss off!” Emily snapped.
“*Language!*” Nigel roared.
Danny grabbed her shoulders. “Come *on*”
Emily wrenched free, fled to her room in tears.
The next morning, she confronted Irene.
“Mum, didnt Dad buy this flat?”
“Well yes.”
“So its *partly mine*?”
“Legally, its mine, but why?”
“I want *them* out!”
“*Ungrateful wretch!* Not another *penny* from me! Buy your own food!” Nigel bellowed.
Emily did. Scrimped every pound. Yet Nigel and Danny still raided her fridge.
The stolen cheese and ham were the last straw.
“Mum, if Im *wrong*, then pay me back for what they took, and Ill *leave*!”
“*Go on then!* Pack your things and *go!*”
Emily stuffed clothes into a bag and walked out.
She crashed at her mate Lilys, switched to part-time studies, got a job. Avoided home for a year.
Then, one day, she spotted Irene outside a dorm.
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
“Living here,” Irene said softly.
“Whatwhat about the flat?”
“Oh, love” Irenes voice cracked. “After you left, Nigel tricked meput the flat in his name. Said itd protect us. Then Danny started bringing girls into *your* room. One day, I came home another woman in *my* bed.”
“What did you *do*?”
“What *could* I? The flats his. Police said I could stayIm on the leasebut the deeds done. I got this dorm room through work. Wanted to tell you never knew how.”
Emily exhaled. “Christ.”
“Dont hate me, love. I lost us our home. Got what I deserved.”
Emily hugged her. Walked away.
That evening, she returned to her shared flat. Small, split with Lilybut *clean*. Quiet. *Hers*.
She still sees Irene. Talks of divorce, fighting Nigel for half the flat. Emily listens. Doesnt engage.
Shes done with the mess.
Too tired.
