When I married James, I knew he had a daughter from his first marriage. Emily, his ex-wife, had left the child six years earliershe packed her things and moved to Belgium with a new love, starting over completely. Since then, shes had two more children, calls her eldest twice a month on video, and only sends gifts at Christmas. I watched that little girl ache for her mother, staring at her phone screen, hoping shed say, Come live with me. But she never invited her, never visited. She simply erased her from her life.
At first, the little girl lived with my mother-in-law, Jamess mum. But she quickly grew exhausted, overwhelmed by homework, tantrums, and meltdowns. She handed her granddaughter back to her father without hesitation. James brought her home, looked me straight in the eye, and murmured, Sophie is staying with us. For good.
I genuinely tried to be a good stepmother. I bought her clothes, cooked her favourite meals, took her to school, talked to her openly. I wanted to be a friend. But she shut me out. As if a wall had gone up between us, with no effort to bridge the gap. She didnt ignore meshe made it clear that, in her world, I didnt matter.
Three years passed. Now, this girl is twelve. And she still lives with us, bossing everyone around as if this were her flat and not ours. Every evening, she complains to her dad: Auntie Kate made me tidy up, Auntie Kate didnt buy what I wanted. Then my mother-in-law rings me to scold me for not looking after the child properly and that since Im about to have a baby myself, its time I learned how to be a mother. Yet she refuses to take her granddaughter for even an hour when I have a doctors appointment or work emergency.
Im exhausted. I work, keep the house running, cook, and now Im pregnant. James, though he doesnt side with his daughter, still asks me to be softer, more patient. But Ive had enough. This girl has become a constant irritation. Shes messy, rude, never says thank you, never listens, and is never satisfied. She isnt mine, and I dont even pretend otherwise anymore.
Sometimes, at night, sitting in the kitchen, I think: If only Id refused to let her move in If Id put my foot down But its too late. I cant leave Jameswere about to have a child together. And, selfish as it sounds, I catch myself wishing more and more that his daughter would choose to go back to her grandmother. That shed say, Im better off with Nana. I wouldnt beg her to stay. I wouldnt even cry.
I just want to live in peace. Without constant criticism, without fighting for my place in this home. I want my child to grow up with love and harmony, not tension and arguments. Maybe this is my only chance to save this family without losing myself.
