My husband and daughter always ignored me, so I left quietly. Then they started panicking…
My name is Mary. Im thirty years old, working as a clerk at an identification company, and until recently, I believed my life with my husband, Marcus, and his daughter, Emily, was the “new family” I had always dreamed of.
Marcus is nine years older than me. He was divorced when we met, raising Emily alone after his ex-wife gave up custody and vanished. Emily was twelve thenstylish, with bright eyes and surprisingly polite when Marcus first introduced us.
“Nice to meet you. Im Emily. Thanks for looking after Dad.”
Her cheerfulness eased my nerves. Id braced for rejection, but she seemed genuinely happy I was there.
I thought: Shes alone, without a mother. Maybe I could be that person.
A year later, Marcus proposed. My parents hesitatedwho wouldnt, when the man already had a child?but convinced by my resolve, they gave their blessing. I married Marcus and moved into the flat he shared with Emily.
At first, everything was smooth. Emily even called me “Mum.” Marcus was affectionate. We had dinners together, watched comedy shows. I thought the story was writing itself.
But as months passed, small cracks appeared.
One evening after dinner, Emily left her plate on the table and flopped onto the sofa with her phone.
“Emily, clear your plate. Youre old enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, seriously? Mum, cant you just do it?”
I froze. “No. Youre in secondary school. You need to learn to take care of yourself.”
“Stop nagging! Youre so annoying.”
Marcus took her side. “Dont be so hard on her, Mary. Shes still a kid. You should just tidy up.”
My face burned. “Im not spoiling her because shes my stepdaughter. I want her to grow up.”
But the seed was planted. From then on, Emily resisted every little request. Marcus indulged her. Chores, shopping, cleaningslowly, it all became my job.
When I tried to reason with them”Were a family; we should work together”Marcus dismissed me: “Housework is womens work.” Emily sneered: “Youre such a cold mother.”
Even though I worked full-time, they treated me like a maid.
Then school troubles began. Emily was fourteen, preparing for her GCSEs. She was clever but lazy. She wanted to attend a prestigious private school but spent afternoons scrolling on her phone.
“Emily, you need to study. Sixth form will be harder.”
She scoffed. “Shut up. Youre not my real mum.”
Marcus added, “Dont pressure her. Shell be fine. Shes reliable.”
We argued fiercely. The more I pushed, the colder Marcus grew. Sometimes he came home late, mumbling about “work.” I suspected he was avoiding me.
Tension filled the flat. I considered divorce but hesitatedwould I disappoint my parents after convincing them this was right?
Then, one morning, everything changed.
“Good morning, Emily. Breakfast is ready.”
She walked past me without a word.
“Emily?”
Nothing.
That evening, I called Marcus. “Hey, theres something I want to discuss about Emily…”
Silence. He didnt even turn his head.
Day after day, they ignored me. Greetings, questions, attempts to talknothing. I was invisible. They chatted between themselves, but the moment I spoke, their eyes glazed over.
I cooked, cleaned, did laundryyet even a “thank you” was missing. On weekends, they went out together, leaving me alone in the flat I once called home.
I tried againEmilys favourite shepherds pie, Marcuss beer in the fridge. Nothing. Silence pressed around me like walls.
I cried in the shower where no one heard. Why?
The answer came by chance.
One evening, I came home early and heard voices from the half-open living room door.
Emily giggled. “Mums so clueless. Ha. The ignoring strategy works perfectly. Shes quiet and does everything.”
Marcus laughed. “Yeah. She stopped nagging and still pays all the bills. Shes a useful housekeeper now.”
Emily cheered, “Ill need more money for private school. Mum can just work harder! Im youngI shouldnt do chores. Its perfect. Lets keep ignoring her.”
My heart pounded. My husband and stepdaughterlaughing about how easily theyd turned me into a servant.
Heat rose in my chest. I bit my lip so hard it bled.
Id never forgive them.
The next morning, I tried once more: “Good morning.”
They ignored me. Emily even clicked her tongue.
After they left, I silently packed my bags. I took only essentials, shut the door, and left without a note.
I went to my parents. I feared their disappointment. Instead, Mum took my hand, her eyes wet. “Stay as long as you need. It mustve been so hard.”
Dad said sharply, “You did all you could. Thats enough.”
Tears Id held for months spilled over. For the first time in two years, I felt seen.
Days later, the phone rang. Marcus. Against sense, I answered.
“Where the hell are you?” he shouted. “How dare you leave? Youre her motherhave you no shame? Come home now!”
I held the phone away, then spoke coolly. “No, Marcus. Im not coming back. I want a divorce.”
“What rubbish? Stop this tantrum over a little ignoring! Were not divorcing.”
He was panickingbecause without me, there was no maid.
I said quietly, “Lets divorce. Why are you cheating on me, by the way?”
Silence. Then: “What what are you talking about?”
But I knew. The mystery call Id received was from Marcuss mistresss husband. He wasnt working late; he was dining with her. He even took Emily sometimes, lying to me. Once, I heard Emily sigh, “Dads girlfriend is so pretty. I wish she were my mum.”
I interrupted. “Ill file for alimony. And the flat isnt yours. Its mine. Dad bought it before we married, in my name. Ive already moved my things and listed it for sale. Your and Emilys belongings? Sent to your parents. Good luck.”
Silence.
Then Marcuss desperate voice: “Mary, please. Forgive me. I love only you.”
But the words flowed out of me like water.
“You and Emily didnt want a wife or mother. You wanted a maid. Its over.”
I hung up.
My husband and daughter always ignored me, so I left quietly. Then they started panicking…
Part Two
The divorce went faster than expected once my solicitor got involved. The facts were clear: Marcuss affair, his financial recklessness, his treatment of me. The mistresss husband filed his own lawsuit. Theyd been drunk on their little “romance,” suddenly buried in legal battles.
Marcus drained my savings paying child support and compensation. It wasnt enough. He took loans.
Meanwhile, Marcus and Emily were evicted from my flat, sold within weeks. With the money, I bought a modest apartment near my office. Quiet, sunny, filled only with things I chose.
Marcus and Emily ended up in a dingy flat across town.
At first, I felt almost nothingjust relief. But then the calls started again.
“Mary, please. Lets reconcile. Emily wants to apologise too.”
But his voice held desperation, not love. He wanted the stability Id once providedmoney, chores, silence.
“No,” I said sharply. “You told me: without you, Id be nothing. Now you seewithout me, youre nothing.”
I hung up.
Months passed.
I heard snippets from friends. Marcuss debts grew. Emily went to a state school instead of the private one shed bragged about. At first, she acted smug, but her arrogance isolated her. Friends drifted away. She stayed home more. Neighbours complained about the flats smell.
One day, Marcus called again, his voice broken.
“Mary, please. I cant do this. Emily wont leave her room. She screams at me. The place is a mess. Theyre threatening to evict us. Please come back. For Emily, if not for me.”
A pang of sadness hit me. Once, Id wanted to be Emilys mother. Id tried.
But then I heard her voice: “The ignoring strategy works perfectly. Mums so clueless.”
Shed mocked me to her dad, treated me like rubbish.
“No,” I said. “You made this bed. Lie in it.”
“Mary”
I hung up again.
The divorce was final. The settlement paid. Papers signed.
I blocked
