Im sitting in the kitchen of our little flat in Manchester, clutching a cup of tea thats gone cold, feeling the anger rise in my throat like a storm. My husband, James, and I built a family together, and on the surface, everythings finea cosy home, a car, a steady income. But our happiness is cracking because of his seventeen-year-old son from his first marriage, Ethan, whos now living with us. He splits his time between here and his mums, but hes staying over more often, turning my life into a nightmare.
Ethans like a thorn in my side. He treats me like a maid, leaves his stuff everywhere, never cleans up after himself, and just shrugs when I ask for help. The worst part? He picks on my four-year-old son, Oliver. Ive seen him smack him on the back of the head just because the little one touched his phone. My daughter, Emily, sleeps in our room because theres no space for a proper bed in our tiny two-bed flat. If Ethan just went back to his mums, we could finally make room for the kids.
But he wont leave. His sixth form is just down the road, and hed rather live with his dad. He spends all day glued to his computer, shouting into his headset while gaming, keeping Oliver awake. Im exhaustedcooking, cleaning, looking after the kids and he wont lift a finger to help. His presence is like a dark cloud over our home, poisoning every moment.
Ive tried talking to James, begging him to convince Ethan to go back to his mums. His ex, Charlotte, lives alone in a spacious three-bed house. Meanwhile, were crammed into a flat thats too small, every corner screaming for space. Is that fair? If Ethan at least got along with my kids, but hes cruel to them. Olivers starting to copy himgetting cheeky and stubborn. Im terrified hell grow up just as cold and arrogant.
James wont do anything. “Hes my son, I cant just kick him out,” he says, blind to how much Im hurting. We argue about Ethan almost every night. I feel like a worn-out horse, dragging this household alone while my husband turns a blind eye to his sons behaviour. Im sick of his excuses, this blind love for a teenager whos tearing us apart.
One day, I snapped. Ethan shouted at Oliver over a spilled drop of juice, and I lost it.
“Thats enough! This isnt a hotel! If youre not happy, go back to your mums!”
He just smirked.
“This is my home too. Im not going anywhere.”
I shook with rage. James, hearing the row, took his sons side, accusing me of “not trying hard enough.” I locked myself in the bedroom, holding a crying Emily, letting my own tears fall. Why should I put up with this rude teenager when his mum gets to live in comfort without a care?
I need a way out. Maybe talking to Ethan directlyexplaining hed be better off at his mums, that he could take the bus to school? But Im scared hell laugh in my face, that James will call me heartless again. I dream of Ethan vanishing from our lives, of my children growing up in peace. But every sneer, every rough shove reminds me hes herelike an intruder I cant shake.
Sometimes I imagine packing up and taking the kids to my mums, leaving James to deal with his son alone. But I love him, and I dont want to break our family. All I want is a quiet home. Why should I suffer, watching Ethan bully my babies while his mum enjoys her freedom? Im tired of this anger, tired of fearing for my kids. I need a way outbut I dont know where to find it.
