**Family Strife Makes an Unhappy Home**
*I hate him! He’s not my father! He should just leave. We’ll manage without him.* Lisa’s fury towards her stepfather was relentless. I couldn’t grasp the conflict tearing their family apart. Why couldn’t they just get along? Little did I know the bitterness festering beneath the surface.
Lisa had a younger half-sister, Edie—her mother and stepfather’s shared child. To me, it seemed he treated both girls the same, but that was an outsider’s view. In truth, Lisa never hurried home after school. She calculated when her nemesis—the dreaded stepfather—would leave for work. If her timing failed and he was still there, she’d *lose her composure*.
Whispering to me, she’d say, *He’s home! Vicky, stay in my room.* Then she’d dramatically lock herself in the bathroom until he left. The moment the front door clicked shut, Lisa emerged, exhaling in relief. *Finally, he’s gone! You’re lucky, Vicky—you’ve got your real dad. I’m stuck with this nightmare.* Her sigh was heavy. *Come on, let’s eat.*
Lisa’s mother was an excellent homemaker. Food was sacred in their house—breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner—all meticulously timed, balanced, and vitamin-packed. Whenever I visited, there was always a warm meal under cotton-draped pots, waiting.
Lisa loathed little Edie, ten years her junior. She teased her, picked fights—yet years later, they’d become inseparable. Lisa married, had a daughter, and eventually, the whole family (except the stepfather) moved to Israel. Years on, she’d have another girl. Edie never married but helped raise her nieces, their bond stronger abroad. Lisa kept in touch with her birth father until his death. Though he’d remarried, she was his only child.
Growing up with both parents, I never realised how hard it was for my friends without fathers.
Take Sarah. Her mother and stepfather were hopeless drunks. Sarah never invited anyone over—ashamed of the shouting, the slaps. But once she turned fifteen, she fought back, and they left her alone.
*Vicky, I’m having a birthday party!* she announced brightly.
I hesitated. *At your house? Won’t your stepfather kick me out?*
*Let him try! His reign’s over. Mum gave me my real dad’s address. He’s my safety net now. Come!*
The big day arrived. I brought a gift and knocked. Sarah greeted me, dressed up. *Come in! Sit!*
Her parents lurked by the table. I muttered a wary hello and got stiff nods in return. The faded oilcloth was set with a bowl of shepherd’s pie, sliced bread, and lemonade in mismatched tumblers. Flaky pastry shards crumbled beside them. Sarah beamed with pride.
*God, what do they eat normally?* I thought, remembering my own birthdays—roasts, cakes, pies, all-day kitchen chaos. I ate politely, avoiding the messy pastry.
Sarah’s parents never sat, just watched. In the corner, her grandmother wheezed from the bed. *Don’t drink, or you’ll forget to feed me!*
Sarah flushed. *Gran, it’s just lemonade!*
The old woman turned to the wall, grumbling.
*Thanks for the lovely meal!* I said quickly. We fled—youth had better things to do than sit with the olds.
Sarah would lose her mum, stepdad, and gran within a year. At twenty-five, she was alone. No marriage, no kids—just fleeting suitors. One became my ex-husband. She took him in briefly, but nothing stuck. Maybe she was just too difficult.
Then there was Emma. At fourteen, she lived with her eighteen-year-old sister, Grace—solemn, stern, grown-up. Their mum visited weekly with groceries and cooked. She’d left Grace’s dad, had Emma with another man, then gone back to her first husband. I envied Emma’s freedom—her mum forever atoning, Grace always busy with beaus.
Emma married, had a daughter, then her husband went to prison. She drank herself to death. Grace found her body at forty-two.
Lastly, there was Nina, who joined our class mid-term. Gorgeous, melodic-voiced—the boys swooned. But she only had eyes for Chris, who’d whisk her away after school in his car.
Nina’s father died before she turned ten. She was a poor student but sang like an angel. She and Chris even formed a band for school dances.
When Chris was drafted, Nina cried at the station but didn’t wait. She had a son—father unknown—and moved in with her mum. Chris forgave her after service, but she refused him.
*You’ll hold my son against me forever. I’d rather be alone.*
Later, she’d marry a farmer and vanish into the countryside.
All these girls were my friends—just not with each other. They couldn’t stand one another.
Now, Lisa and I occasionally exchange letters. She vows to shield her daughters from her own past.
*I won’t let them endure what I did with a stepfather. If there’s friction, better with a real dad than some stranger. Blood ties weather storms. He left scars that never fade.*
Sometimes, we laugh over old school antics.
As for Sarah and Nina? Their traces are lost.
