**Diary Entry – 12th November**
I married a man with a daughter from his first marriage. The girl’s mother abandoned her and ran off abroad with a new husband, leaving the child behind. Now I’m living in hell, trying to share a home in the quiet town of Hereford with this stranger of a girl. I dreamed of a happy family, but instead, I’m stuck with a spoiled, ill-mannered brat who makes my life unbearable. Now that I’m pregnant, I need her gone—off to her grandmother’s. But how do I make her *want* to leave?
When Anton and I first started dating, his daughter, Matilda, mostly stayed with her nan. I barely saw her, and foolishly thought I could accept her as part of the package. After the wedding, everything changed. His mum declared she couldn’t handle Matilda anymore and dumped her on us. I tried to get along, but every effort crashed against her indifference and cheek. She ignores me like I’m nothing. Worse—she acts like she owns the place, leaving messes everywhere and running to her father or nan with complaints about me at every turn.
Every other day, his mother lectures me: “Be patient, Irene, try harder!” Anton begs me to be understanding, but why should I cave to a twelve-year-old who’s outright rude? She’s not my blood, and I refuse to play nanny. My own child’s on the way, and I won’t tolerate her antics. Why does no one discipline her? Anton and his mother spoil her rotten, excusing her laziness and backtalk. If this keeps up, she’ll grow into a selfish, entitled nightmare.
Matilda’s a slob. Dirty dishes, clothes strewn about—I’m left cleaning up after her. Her behaviour shocks me: sly, manipulative, deliberately winding me up. Anton works late, so it’s often just the two of us. She’s not a baby, yet they insist she can’t be left alone. Why must *I* sacrifice my time and sanity? I’ve a life too—work, rest, a future to plan.
His mother pops round for tea, coos over Matilda, then needles me: “Why don’t you play with her? Teach her something?” She genuinely believes I should mother another woman’s child. The pressure’s suffocating. If they weren’t demanding the impossible, maybe I’d cope. But now? I regret ever tying myself to a man with baggage. Matilda will never be family, and I won’t pretend otherwise.
The pregnancy makes it worse. I want peace—to prepare for my baby, not waste energy on some stranger’s kid. Matilda’s Anton’s past, not my burden. How do I send her packing without wrecking our marriage? I’m at my limit.
**Lesson learned: Love might bind you to a person, but it doesn’t force you to suffer their ghosts.**
