My husband and daughter always ignored me, so I quietly left. Then they started panicking…
My name is Mary. Im thirty years old, working as a clerk at an identification company, and until recently, I thought my life with my husband Marcus and his daughter Emily was the “new family” Id always dreamed of.
Marcus was nine years older than me. He was divorced when we met, raising Emily alone after his ex-wife gave up custody and disappeared. Emily was twelve thenstylish, with bright eyes and surprisingly polite when Marcus first introduced us.
“Nice to meet you. Im Emily. Thanks for always looking after Dad.”
Her cheerfulness eased my nervous hands. Id braced for rejection, but instead, she seemed genuinely happy I was around.
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 daughter?but convinced by my determination, they gave their blessing. I married Marcus and moved into the flat where he lived with Emily.
At first, everything was smooth. Emily even called me “Mum.” Marcus was affectionate. We had dinner together, watched comedy shows. I thought life was writing itself.
But as months passed, tiny 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 responsibility.”
“Stop nagging! Youre so annoying.”
Marcus took her side. “Dont be so harsh, Mary. Shes still a kid. You should clean up.”
My face burned. “Im not picking fights because shes my stepdaughter. I want her to grow up right.”
But the seed was planted. From then on, Emily resisted every request. Marcus enabled her. Chores, shopping, cleaningslowly, it all became my job.
When I tried reasoning”Were a family; we should share the load”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 became an issue. Emily was fourteen, preparing for her GCSEs. She was bright but lazy. She wanted to attend a prestigious private school but spent afternoons scrolling through her phone.
“Emily, you need to study. Itll only get harder.”
She scoffed. “Shut up. Youre not my real mum.”
Marcus chimed in: “Dont stress her. Shell be fine. Shes reliable.”
We argued fiercely. The more I pushed, the colder Marcus grew. Sometimes he came home late, muttering about “work.” I suspected he was avoiding me.
Tension filled the flat. I considered divorce but hesitatedwould I disappoint everyone after convincing my parents?
Then, one morning, everything changed.
“Good morning, Emily. Breakfast is ready.”
She walked past 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 laundrynot even a “thank you.” On weekends, they went out together, leaving me alone in the flat I once called home.
I tried harderEmilys favourite shepherds pie, Marcuss lager in the fridge. Nothing. The silence pressed in 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 silent treatment works perfectly. She shuts up and does everything.”
Marcus laughed. “Yep. She stopped nagging and still pays all the bills. Shes a useful housekeeper now.”
Emily exclaimed: “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 at 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 back for months burst free. For the first time in two years, I felt seen.
Days later, my phone rang. Marcus. Against sense, I answered.
“Where the hell have you been?” he shouted. “How dare you leave? Youre her motherhave you no shame? Come home now!”
I held the phone away, then spoke calmly. “No, Marcus. Im not coming back. I want a divorce.”
“What nonsense? Stop throwing a tantrum over a little silence! Were not divorcing.”
He was panickingbecause without me, there was no maid.
I said quietly: “Lets divorce. Why are you cheating, by the way?”
Silence. Then: “What what are you talking about?”
But I knew. That mysterious call Id received was from Marcuss mistresss husband. He wasnt working late; he was dining with her. Hed even taken Emily along, lying to me. Once, I overheard Emily sigh: “Dads girlfriend is so pretty. I wish she were my mum.”
I cut in. “Ill file for alimony. And the flat isnt yours. Its mine. Dad bought it before we marriedits in my name. Ive already moved my things and listed it. Yours and Emilys stuff? Sent to your parents. Good luck.”
Silence hung.
Then Marcuss desperate voice: “Mary, please. Im sorry. I love only you. Forgive me.”
But my words flowed 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 quietly left. 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. Drunk on their little “romance,” they were suddenly buried in legal battles.
Marcus drained my savings, paying both child support and the mistresss husbands settlement. It wasnt enough. He took out loans.
Meanwhile, Marcus and Emily were evicted from my flat, which sold within weeks. With the money, I bought a modest apartment near my officequiet, sunny, filled only with things Id chosen.
Marcus and Emily ended up in a dingy flat across town.
At first, I felt 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 always said I was nothing without you. 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 superior, but her arrogance isolated her. Friends drifted away. She spent more time at home. Neighbours complained about the smell from their flat.
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 filthy. Theyll 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 silent treatment works perfectly. Mums so clueless.”
Shed mocked me to her dad, treated me like rubbish.
“No,” I said. “You made this mess. Live with it.”
“Mary”
I hung up again.
The divorce was final. The settlement paid. The
