“I’m not your real mother, and that’s all there is to it!”
“Stay out of my business!” Emily shouted, arms flailing. “She’s *my* daughter, not yours!”
“I just wanted to help,” Sarah said quietly, clutching the frying pan in her trembling hands. “Katie’s ill—she’s got a high fever.”
“*Help?*” Emily scoffed, mocking her. “You just want to show off what a perfect stepmum you are, don’t you? So Daddy will think you’re wonderful?”
“Emily, enough,” William tried to intervene, but his daughter didn’t even glance his way.
“You stay out of it!” She jabbed her finger toward Sarah. “I’m not your real daughter, and that’s the truth. You threw me away for *her*—for this… this…”
Emily choked on the words, spun on her heel, and stormed out. Her bedroom door slammed so hard the cabinet glasses rattled.
Sarah set the pan down and sank into a chair, hands shaking, eyes brimming with tears.
“Don’t take it to heart,” William murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder. “She’s upset about university—didn’t get the scholarship, so now the whole world’s her enemy.”
“Will,” Sarah whispered, “she’s right. I’ll never be her real mother. Never.”
“Don’t be daft. Time sorts everything.”
Sarah gave a bitter smile. *Time.* Four years married, and things with Emily had only gotten worse. First, it was icy distance. Then came the sharp remarks. Now—open warfare.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have offered to pay her tuition?”
“Why not? You meant well.”
“She thinks I’m trying to *buy* her.”
William sighed and sat beside her.
“Sarah, I know it’s hard. But Emily lost her mum at fourteen. She’s terrified someone will take that place.”
“I don’t want her mother’s place. I just want peace.”
“I know. And she’ll understand—one day.”
Sarah nodded, though she didn’t believe it. Every day in this house was a battle. Emily picked fights over meals, misplaced belongings, phone calls too loud.
From Emily’s room, music blared. The neighbours had complained before, but she ignored them.
“Ask her to turn it down,” Sarah said.
“You ask her. You both need to talk.”
“After what just happened?”
“*Especially* now. Letting things fester helps no one.”
Reluctantly, Sarah knocked on Emily’s door.
“Can I come in?”
The music grew louder. She knocked harder.
“Emily, please—we need to talk.”
The door swung open. Emily stood there, eyes red-rimmed.
“What do *you* want?”
“Turn the music down. The neighbours keep complaining.”
“Don’t care.”
“Emily, I know you’re upset—”
“You don’t know *anything*!” the girl exploded. “Think offering money means I’ll love you? Dream on!”
“I don’t expect love. I just want us to stop fighting.”
“Don’t want fights? *Leave.* This is *our* home—mine and Dad’s. You don’t belong here.”
The words cut deep. Sarah steadied herself.
“Your dad loves me. I love him. We’re a family.”
“No! *We* are family—Dad and me! You’re just *here*! Bet you only married him for the house!”
Sarah paled.
“Who told you that?”
“Gran. Mum’s mum. She says you’re a gold-digger. That you targeted Dad when you heard he was a widower with a three-bed in London.”
“*That’s a lie.*”
“Truth!” Emily stepped closer, eyes blazing. “You were forty, stuck in a *houseshare*. Then—bam!—a man with property? Course you *snapped him up!*”
Each word was a slap. Sarah’s cheeks burned.
“I *love* your father—”
“Yeah, his *house* and his *salary*. Him, you just *tolerate*!”
“*Enough!*” Sarah snapped. “You don’t get to say that!”
“I *do*! This is *my home*! You’re *nothing* here!”
Emily slammed the door. The music roared louder.
Sarah stood trembling in the hall, fury and hurt warring inside her. Because *some* of it was true. She *had* met William at forty. She *had* lived in a rented flat. But she’d married for love—not money.
William found her in the bathroom, dabbing her face with a towel.
“What happened? Emily’s screaming bloody murder.”
“She said I married you for the house.”
William frowned.
“Where’d she get that idea?”
“From your ex-mother-in-law. Turns out Margaret’s been feeding her poison.”
William clenched his fists. “Margaret never liked me. After I married you, she turned spiteful.”
“Maybe I should go,” Sarah whispered. “Look what I’m doing to Emily. I won’t wreck your relationship.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steel. “You’re my wife. If anyone has a problem, it’s *theirs*.”
“But Emily—”
“Needs to learn the world doesn’t revolve around her. People deserve happiness.”
Sarah clung to him, his arms her only refuge. But alone with Emily? War.
Next morning, Emily skipped breakfast. The front door *slammed* on her way to uni. Sarah sighed in relief—a few hours’ peace.
She cleaned, cooked lunch, then settled at her sewing machine. Freelance tailoring paid modestly, but it was steady.
The doorbell rang. An older woman stood there, face stern.
“Margaret?” Sarah blinked.
“Yes. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Margaret swept past her, sitting without invitation.
“Tea?” Sarah offered.
“No. I’m not here socially.”
“Why *are* you here?”
Margaret’s gaze swept the room.
“Done well for yourself. Moved from a *houseshare* to a three-bed.”
Sarah’s cheeks burned.
“If you’ve come to insult me—”
“Not insults. A proposal.”
Sarah frowned. “What proposal?”
Margaret pulled an envelope from her handbag.
“Fifty thousand pounds. Yours. If you divorce William and disappear.”
Sarah stared.
“Are you *mad*?”
“Perfectly sane. You’re tearing this family apart. Emily’s suffering. William’s changed—used to be a devoted father, now he’s wrapped around *your* finger.”
“William *loves me*—”
“He’s blinded. It’ll pass. But while you’re here, that girl *hurts*. Have you no pity?”
The envelope seemed to pulse in Margaret’s hand. So this was what they *all* thought of her.
“Keep your money.”
“Think carefully. Fifty grand buys a nice flat. Independence.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“Everyone’s for sale. It’s just the price. Seventy-five, then?”
“*Leave*,” Sarah said quietly.
“A hundred. My final offer.”
Sarah marched to the door.
“I said *go*.”
Margaret rose, lips thin.
“You’re making a mistake. Emily will *never* accept you.”
“We’ll see.”
Margaret left—but not before dropping the envelope on the table. Sarah stared at it, then tossed it in the bin.
When William returned, she told him everything.
“She *offered you money*?”
“A hundred grand. To divorce you.”
William went white with rage.
“How *dare* she! I’ll *deal* with this—”
“Don’t. It’ll make things worse.”
“I won’t let them humiliate you!”
“What *can* you do? Forbid Emily from seeing her?”
They both knew that would backfire.
Emily came home late, when they were already in bed. Next morning—no breakfast, just slammed doors.
Days passed. The tension thickened. Emily ignored Sarah entirely, barely speaking to William.
Then, one evening, she didn’t come home.
“Where *is* she?” Sarah fretted.
“Probably at Margaret’s.”
But by morning, still no word. William drove to Margaret’s.
“Is she here?”
“Yes. And she’ll *stay* here until that woman’s gone.”
“Margaret, *stop this*. Emily belongs at home.”
“*Home?*” Margaret sneered. “Where her *stepmother* rules? Where her own father’s a stranger?”
“I haven’t changed—”
“Oh, you have! Emily used to be everything. Now you’d choose a *wife* over your *child*.”
William returned grim-faced. Told Sarah what Margaret said.
“What did you say?”
“That no one dictates my life.”
SarahSarah hesitated, then took a deep breath and reached for the phone, determined to call Margaret and finally set things right for the sake of their fractured family.
