“You’re nothing to me!” — the scream from the stepdaughter cut deeper than any knife.
“You’re nothing to me!” shouted Emily, slamming the door so hard the china in the display cabinet rattled. The house fell into dead silence. Karen sat on the edge of the chair, gripping her mug where tea had long gone cold.
“Mum, what happened?” asked little Sophie, peeking into the kitchen.
Karen just shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Emily again?”
“Her form tutor called…” Karen whispered. “It’s nothing, really…”
Sophie moved closer and wrapped her arms around her mum’s shoulders. “Mum, don’t be upset. It’ll be okay.” Even though Sophie was only thirteen, there was a wisdom in her beyond her years—sometimes it felt like she was older than fifteen-year-old Emily, her stepsister.
Half an hour later, David came home from work, and the smell of dinner filled the house. Everyone sat at the table—except Emily.
“Where is she?” David asked, glancing at the empty chair.
“Upset,” Sophie replied, carefully stirring her soup.
David looked at his wife. She dropped her gaze guiltily.
“Her tutor called. Emily’s failing every subject. I tried to talk to her…” Karen trailed off, fighting back tears.
David stood and walked to Emily’s room. Knocked.
“Go away!” came from inside.
“Just me. Can I come in?”
The door cracked open, and after making sure no one else was there, Emily reluctantly let him in.
“What’s all this mess?” He eye the scattered clothes and an empty instant noodle packet.
“Karen keeps—” Emily started, but David cut her off.
“I rang Mrs. Henderson myself. You really *are* failing everything. What’s going on, Em?”
She stayed silent, shoving textbooks into her bag.
“I don’t expect you to love Karen, but you could at least respect her. You hurt her every day.”
“And she doesn’t hurt me? You took *her* and Sophie shopping, and I was left alone!”
“You forgot I grounded you for sneaking out to your mate’s at midnight?”
“Of course! I’m the villain, and Sophie’s perfect!”
“Enough!” David’s voice turned sharp. “You’re pushing it too far.”
He walked out before she could reply. In the kitchen, Karen sat with clenched hands, words stuck in her throat. Seeing her husband, she stayed quiet—until a few minutes later when she finally spoke.
“I don’t know what to do anymore. Emily pushes me away, she’s jealous of you. I tried, honestly… but I never managed to be *anyone* to her.”
“I know, love,” David said, hugging her. “But what do we do?”
“We need to move out. Temporarily,” Karen forced out.
“What?” He pulled back. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe if she has you to herself for a while, something might change…”
Emily heard every word, frozen behind the door. Hope flared in her chest. *Dad’s coming back to live with just me.*
The next morning, David told her they were moving back to their old flat. Sophie burst into tears, barged into Emily’s room, and screamed—
“You hate my mum, and now you’re taking my dad!”—before slamming the door behind her.
Emily hadn’t expected it to play out like this. She was thrilled—until she realised how hard life was without Karen’s hands. No one cooked. No one helped with homework. Dad was at work, leaving her to boil pasta and wash socks. He grew impatient, strict—nothing like Karen, who’d gently explain things even when Emily yelled in her face.
Her birthday was coming up. Emily decided to bake a cake, found a recipe, whipped the batter… but didn’t watch the oven. The sponge burned. When David got home, he found her crying over the charred mess.
“Dad… let’s go home,” she whispered into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I love you… and Karen… and Sophie…”
“I love you too, sweetheart. But going back isn’t that simple. We hurt them. We need to ask if they’ll take us back.”
Emily stayed quiet. She was ashamed. Deeply ashamed.
“You have to understand,” David said, “Karen may not be your mum, but she *does* deserve respect. And you *have* to apologise.”
All night, Emily couldn’t sleep. For the first time in ages, she wasn’t angry—just full of shame and guilt. The next morning, she asked David to take her back to Karen and Sophie.
She apologised. Sincerely. Through tears. To Karen. To Sophie. And a few days later, for the very first time, she whispered—
“Mum… I’m sorry.”
And no one could tell who cried more in that moment.
