Im sitting in the kitchen of our small flat in Manchester, clutching a cup of tea gone cold, the sting of angry tears tightening my throat. My husband, James, and I have built a family, and on the surface, everything seems finea cosy home, a car, a steady income. Yet our happiness is cracking under the weight of his seventeen-year-old son from a previous marriage, Ethan, whos now living with us. He splits his time between here and his mothers, but lately, hes been staying more often, turning my life into a nightmare.
Ethan is like a splinter in my heart. He treats me like a servant, leaves his things strewn about, ignores dirty dishes, and answers my requests for help with nothing but a shrug. Worst of all, he takes it out on my four-year-old son, Oliver. Ive seen him swat the back of Olivers head just because the little boy brushed against his phone. My baby girl, Lily, sleeps in our room since theres no space for a cot in our two-bed flat. If Ethan would just go back to his mums, we could finally make proper rooms for the children.
But Ethan wont leave. His college is just down the road, and hed rather live with his dad. He spends his days glued to his computer, shouting into his headset while gaming, keeping Oliver awake. Im worn outcooking, cleaning, the kidsand he wont lift a finger to help. His presence is like a storm cloud over our home, poisoning every moment.
Ive tried talking to James, begging him to convince Ethan to move back to his mums. His ex-wife, Claire, lives alone in a spacious three-bed. Meanwhile, were crammed into a tiny flat, every corner screaming for space. Is that fair? If Ethan at least got along with the children, but hes cruel to them. Olivers starting to mimic him, turning rude and entitled. I worry hell grow up just as cold, just as selfish.
James refuses to act. “Hes my sonI cant throw him out,” he says, blind to my pain. We argue about Ethan nearly every night. I feel like a worn-out horse, dragging the weight of this house alone while my husband turns a blind eye to his sons behaviour. Im tired of the excuses, this stubborn love for a boy whos tearing us apart.
One day, I snapped. Ethan yelled at Oliver againover a spilled drop of juiceand I lost it.
“Thats enough! This isnt a hotel! If youre unhappy, go back to your mums!”
He just smirked. “This is my home. Im not going anywhere.”
I shook with helpless rage. James, hearing the row, took his side, accusing me of “not trying hard enough.” I fled to the bedroom, clutching a tearful Lily, letting my own tears fall. Why should I put up with this arrogant boy when his mother lounges in comfort, barely sparing him a thought?
Im searching for a solution. Maybe talking directly to Ethan? Explaining hed be better off at his mums, that he could take the bus to college? But Im afraid hell just laugh, 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 here, an intruder I cant shake.
Sometimes I imagine packing up and taking the kids to my mums, leaving James to handle Ethan alone. But I love him, and I dont want to break our family. All I want is a quiet home. Why must I suffer, watching Ethan bully my babies while his mother enjoys her freedom? Im sick of this anger, sick of fearing for my children. I need a way outbut I dont know where to find it.
