You Just Can’t Find a Way to Connect With Him “I’m not doing it! And stop bossing me around—you’re nothing to me!” Daniel slammed his plate into the sink so hard that water splashed across the counter. Anna froze for a second, stunned. The fifteen-year-old glared at her with the kind of anger that made it seem as if she’d single-handedly ruined his entire life. “I only asked you to help with the washing up,” Anna said, trying to keep her voice calm. “It’s a simple request.” “My mum never made me wash dishes! I’m not some girl! Who are you to tell me what to do, anyway?” Daniel spun on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen. Moments later, music began to blare from his bedroom. Anna leaned back against the fridge, eyes closed, taking a shaky breath. Just a year earlier, things had seemed so different… Max had come into her life by chance. He was an engineer in the office next to hers at one of London’s major construction firms. They’d kept crossing paths at meetings—first sharing coffee during breaks, then dinner after work, and finally late-night, hours-long phone conversations. “I’ve got a son,” Max confessed during their third date, nervously twisting a napkin between his fingers. “Daniel. He’s fifteen. His mum and I divorced two years ago. He’s… having a rough time.” “I understand.” Anna placed her hand gently over his. “Divorce is hard on kids. And fifteen’s a tough age.” “Are you sure you’re ready… for the both of us?” At the time, Anna truly believed she was. At thirty-two, one unsuccessful childless marriage behind her, she was desperate to create a real family. Max seemed like the solid, genuine Englishman she could actually build a future with. Six months later he proposed, awkward and endearing, the ring hidden in a box of her favourite Marks & Spencer biscuits. Anna laughed and said yes without hesitation. They opted for a modest wedding: a handful of family members, a few close friends, and a reserved table in a small, stylish pub. Daniel sat in his suit all evening, glued to his phone, not once looking up at the newlyweds. “He’ll come round,” Max whispered, seeing Anna’s uncertainty. “He just needs time.” Anna moved into Max’s spacious three-bed home in West London the very next day. Bright, modern, a big kitchen, and a balcony overlooking the communal garden. Yet from the first moment, Anna couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a guest—an outsider in someone else’s life… Daniel treated her like furniture; he ignored her, looked straight through her. When she entered a room, he’d pointedly put on his headphones. If she dared ask a question, he’d respond with clipped answers, eyes fixed anywhere but on her. The first few weeks, Anna assumed it was just adjustment. After all, it was difficult for any boy to accept a stepmother. Surely, things would improve. They didn’t. “Daniel, please don’t eat in your bedroom. We’ll never get rid of the mice.” “Dad always let me.” “Daniel, have you done your homework?” “None of your business.” “Daniel, could you tidy up after yourself, please?” “Do it yourself. It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.” Anna tried to discuss things with Max, treading carefully so as not appear the wicked stepmother. “I think we need some ground rules,” she suggested one evening after Daniel went to his room. “No eating in bedrooms, clean up after yourself, homework finished by a certain time—” “Anna, he’s struggling,” Max groaned, rubbing his brow. “The divorce, a new person in the house… Let’s not push him.” “I’m not pushing. I just want some order.” “He’s just a child.” “He’s fifteen, Max! Fifteen-year-olds can learn to wash their own mugs.” But Max just sighed and turned up the telly, making it clear the discussion was over. Every day, things got worse. When Anna asked Daniel to take out the rubbish, he looked openly disgusted by her. “You’re not my mum. You’ll never be my mum. You can’t boss me around.” “I’m not bossing. I’m asking you to help in the house we all live in.” “This isn’t your house. It’s my dad’s. Mine.” Anna went to Max again. He promised to talk to Daniel. But either those talks never happened or they had no effect at all—Anna couldn’t tell anymore. Daniel started returning home well past midnight with no warning, no text. Anna lay awake, listening to every noise in the flat. Max snored away beside her, seemingly oblivious. “Can you at least ask him to message us where he is?” Anna pleaded over breakfast. “Anything could happen.” “He’s old enough, Anna. We can’t control him.” “Old enough? He’s fifteen!” “I was out late at his age, too.” “Yes, but can you at least talk to him? Explain that we worry?” Max just shrugged and left for work… Every attempt to set any boundaries led to a row. Daniel would shout, slam doors, accuse Anna of ruining their family. Every time, Max sided with his son. “He’s having a hard time after the divorce,” he’d repeat like a mantra. “You have to understand.” “But what about me?” Anna finally snapped. “I’m living in a house where I’m openly despised and you pretend everything’s fine!” “You’re exaggerating.” “Exaggerating? Your son told me directly I’m nothing to him. He said that. Word for word.” “He’s a teenager. They’re all like this.” Anna phoned her mum—no one steadies her quite like Mum. “Sweetheart,” her mum’s voice was anxious. “You sound miserable. I can hear it in every word.” “Mum, I don’t know what to do. Max won’t even recognise there’s a problem.” “Because for him, there isn’t. He’s comfortable. You’re the one who’s suffering.” Her mother paused, then quietly added: “You deserve better, Anna. Please, think about that.” Feeling untouchable, Daniel really let loose. Music blared until 3 a.m. Dishes showed up everywhere—the coffee table, the windowsill, even the bathroom. Socks covered the hallway; textbooks piled up on the kitchen counter. Anna cleaned, unable to stand the mess. But cleaning made her cry from frustration and helplessness. Eventually, Daniel stopped even acknowledging her existence—except to throw out a nasty remark or sneer. “You just don’t know how to relate to kids,” Max declared one night. “Maybe you’re the problem?” “Relate?” Anna gave a sad, bitter laugh. “I’ve been trying for six months, and he literally calls me ‘that woman’ in front of you!” “You’re being dramatic.” Anna gave it one last try. She found Daniel’s favourite recipe—roast chicken in honey glaze with herby potato wedges—online, bought the best ingredients, and spent four hours cooking. “Daniel, dinner’s ready!” she called as she laid the table. Daniel came in, glanced at the plate, and grimaced. “I’m not eating that.” “Why not?” “Because you cooked it.” He left. Minutes later, the front door slammed—Daniel had gone out to his mates. Max came home, saw the cold dinner and Anna’s defeated face. “What’s happened?” Anna explained. Max sighed. “Come on, Anna… Don’t be upset with the boy. He doesn’t mean it.” “Doesn’t mean it? He goes out of his way to humiliate me. Every. Single. Day.” “You’re too sensitive.” A week later, Daniel brought home five mates from school. They raided the fridge, left food everywhere. “Out, now!” Anna commanded, finding the group sprawled across the living room. “It’s nearly eleven!” Daniel didn’t even turn his head. “This is my house. I’ll do what I want.” “This is our home. There are rules here.” “What rules?” one of Daniel’s friends sniggered. “Dan, who is she, anyway?” “No one. Ignore her.” Anna retreated to the bedroom and called Max. He came home an hour later, after the mates had left. He glanced at the mess, at his exhausted wife. “Anna, stop being so dramatic. They were only here for a bit.” “A bit?” “You’re blowing this out of proportion. In fact—” Max frowned “—it feels like you’re pitting me against my own son.” Anna stared. She barely recognised her husband. “Max, we need a serious talk,” she said the next day. “About us. About our future.” Max stiffened but sat opposite her. “I can’t do this anymore,” Anna said, weighing her words. “For six months I’ve put up with disrespect—Daniel’s rudeness, your total indifference to my feelings.” “Anna, I—” “Let me finish. I tried. I genuinely tried to be part of this family. But there isn’t one. There’s you, your son, and me—the outsider, tolerated because I cook and clean.” “You’re being unfair.” “Unfair? When was the last time your son said anything kind to me? When did you ever take my side?” Max stayed silent. “I love you,” he finally whispered. “But Daniel’s my son. He comes first.” “Before me?” “Before anything.” Anna nodded. Her chest felt hollow and cold. “Thank you for being honest.” Two days later, Anna found her favourite blouse—her mum’s birthday present—shredded on her pillow. There was only one suspect. “Daniel!” Anna stormed in, holding the scraps of fabric. “What is this?!” He just shrugged, eyes glued to his phone. “I’ve no idea.” “That’s my property!” “So?” “Max!” Anna rang her husband. “Come home. Now.” Max arrived, looked at the blouse, at Daniel, at Anna. “Dan, did you do this?” “No.” “See?” Max spread his hands. “He says he didn’t do it.” “Who then? The cat? We don’t own a bloody cat!” “Maybe you tore it by accident—” “Max!” Anna looked at her husband and realised it was pointless. He would never change. He would never take her side. She was nothing but a handy housekeeper to him, and Daniel was all that mattered. “Daniel misses his mum,” Max echoed yet again. “You have to see that.” “I do,” Anna replied quietly. “I understand everything now.” That evening, she pulled out her suitcase. “What are you doing?” Max stood frozen in the doorway. “Packing. I’m leaving.” “Anna, wait! Let’s talk!” “We’ve been talking for six months. Nothing’s changed,” Anna replied as she folded her clothes. “I have a right to be happy too, Max.” “I’ll change! I’ll talk to Daniel!” “It’s too late.” She looked at him—the grown man who’d never learned to be anything but a father. Not a husband. And a father who’d spoiled his son rotten with blind devotion. “I’ll file for divorce next week,” Anna said, zipping up her suitcase. “Anna—” “Goodbye, Max.” Without glancing back, she left the flat. In the hall, she caught sight of Daniel—for the first time, his eyes held something besides disdain. Uncertainty? Fear? Anna no longer cared. Her new rented flat was small but cosy—a North London one-bed with a view across a peaceful street. Anna unpacked, made a cup of tea, and sat on the window ledge. For the first time in months, she felt calm. The divorce was complete two months later. Max tried to call, asking her to come back. Anna politely refused—no. She’d survived. She wasn’t bitter. She simply realised that happiness isn’t endless sacrifice and patience. Happiness is being respected and valued. And someday, she’d find it. Just not with this man.

Author Wanda MirandaReading 11 minViews 14

You just cant get through to him

Im not doing it! And stop bossing me around! Youre no one to me!

Jack threw his plate into the sink, sending water splashing across the worktop. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. The fifteen-year-old glared at me as if Id destroyed his life with my own hands.

I only asked for a bit of help with the washing up, I tried to keep my voice steady. Its hardly much to ask.
My mum never made me do the dishes! Im not a girl! Why do you think you get to boss me about?

Jack turned on his heel and stormed out. Seconds later, blaring music thudded through the house from his bedroom.

I leaned back against the fridge, eyes closed.

A year ago, none of this seemed possible

Edward had come into my life by chance. He was an engineer in the office next to mine at one of the larger firms in Manchester. We crossed paths in meetings, started chatting over coffee at lunch, then had a few dinners after work, long phone calls that lasted till midnight.

Ive got a son, Edward confessed, fiddling with a napkin during our third date. Jacks fifteen. His mum and I split two years ago, and its been tough for him.
I understand, I put my hand over his. Its always rough for children when their parents divorce. Thats completely normal.
Are you truly ready to take both of us on?

Back then, I absolutely believed I was. At thirty-two, after coming out of my own childless marriage, I was desperate for a real family. Edward seemed just the man to build that with.

Six months later, he proposed awkward and shy, hiding the ring box amongst my favourite custard tarts from the bakery. I laughed and said yes on the spot.

We had a small wedding: just family, a couple of close friends, and a modest reception at a nearby restaurant. Jack spent the entire evening glued to his phone, never once glancing up at us.

Hell get used to it, Edward whispered, noticing my dismay. Just give him some time.

I moved into Edwards roomy three-bed flat the day after the wedding. The place was light and airy, with a huge kitchen and a balcony looking over the gardens. Yet from the start, I felt like a guest in someone elses house

Jack looked through me, like I was just part of the furniture. Whenever I entered a room, he made a show of putting on his headphones. If I asked him anything, hed mutter a monosyllabic answer without meeting my eye.

I chalked it up to adjustment for the first couple of weeks. The poor lad needed time, I kept telling myself. It must be bitter seeing his father with someone new. Sooner or later, things would settle. They didnt.

Jack, please, dont eat in your room. Well have a flat full of mice soon enough.
Dad never minded.
Jack, have you done your homework?
None of your business.
Jack, tidy up after yourself please.
Do it yourself. Not like youve got anything better to do.

I cautiously broached the subject with Edward, picking my words carefully so I didnt sound like the evil stepmother out of a fairy tale.

I really think we need to set a few ground rules, I said one evening after Jack had gone to his room. No eating in the bedrooms, tidying up after ourselves, getting the homework done by a certain hour
Emma, its been hard enough for him already the divorce, a new person in the house Lets not push him right now.
Im not pushing. I just want some order in the home.
Hes still a kid.
Hes fifteen, Edward. Hes perfectly capable of washing his own mug by now.

Edward just sighed and turned on the telly, signalling the conversation was over.

Things only got worse. The day I asked Jack to take out the bins, he looked at me with a sneer.

Youre not my mum. Youll never be my mum. Youve no right to tell me what to do.
Im not ordering you about. Im just asking you help out in the house we all share.
This isnt your house. Its Dads. And mine.

I tried, again, to talk to my husband. He nodded along, promised to have a word with Jack, but either nothing changed or, I suspected, the conversations never actually took place.

Jack started coming in after midnight no message, no call. Id sit awake, listening for sounds in the street. Meanwhile, Edward dozed beside me, completely unbothered.

Will you at least ask him to let us know where he is and when hell be back? I asked one morning. Anything could happen.
Hes old enough, Emma. You cant control teenagers.
Hes fifteen!
When I was his age, I was out late too.
But could you just talk to him? Let him know we worry?

Edward shrugged, heading out the door for work

Every attempt to introduce the simplest boundaries turned into a row. Jack shouted, slammed doors, accused me of destroying his family. And Edward? He always took the boys side.

Hes hurting after the split, Edward repeated like a mantra. You need to understand.
And what about me? I finally snapped. I live in a house where Im openly disdained and my husband acts like its all perfectly normal!
Youre exaggerating.
Am I? Your son told me to my face that Im nobody here. Thats a direct quote.

Hes a teenager. Theyre all like that.

I rang my mum shes always had the right words.

Love, I can hear how unhappy you are, she said, her voice full of concern.
Mum, I dont know what to do. Edward refuses to admit theres even a problem.
Thats because, for him, its not a problem. Hes content. Youre the only one suffering.

She paused, then softly added:

You deserve better, Emma. Please remember that.

With zero consequences, Jack stopped caring altogether. The music blared until three in the morning. Dirty plates appeared everywhere on the coffee table, windowsill, even in the bathroom. Socks strewn around the hallway, textbooks scattered across the kitchen.

I cleaned, because I couldnt stand the squalor. And I cried with frustration. Before long, Jack even stopped acknowledging me. I wasnt there for him except to be mocked or insulted.

You cant get through to him, Edward observed one evening. Maybe the problems with you?
Through to him? I gave a hollow laugh. Ive been trying for half a year. He still calls me her when youre around.
Youre being overdramatic.

My last attempt at a truce cost me an entire day. I found a recipe online for Jacks favourite honey-glazed chicken with potato wedges, made sure to buy the best ingredients, spent four hours at the cooker.

Jack, dinners ready! I called, laying the table.

He emerged, glanced at his plate and screwed up his nose.

Im not eating this.
Why not?
Because you made it.

He turned and left immediately. The front door slammed off to his mates.

When Edward came home to find the food cold and me in tears, all he did was sigh.

Oh Emma, dont take it to heart. Hes just a kid, he means no malice.
No malice?! I couldnt keep it in. He humiliates me on purpose! Every single day!
Youre taking it too seriously.

A week later, Jack brought five of his mates over late in the evening. After theyd trashed the kitchen, food wrappers everywhere, Id had enough.

Out, all of you! I said as I stormed into the lounge. Its almost eleven!

Jack didnt even turn round.

Its my house. I do what I like.
Its our home! There are rules.
What rules? one of his mates sniggered. Jack, who even is this?
Dont worry, just nobody. Ignore her.

I retreated to the bedroom and phoned Edward. He came back an hour later, the friends already gone, surveyed the mess, looked at my exhausted face.

Honestly Emma, stop making a fuss. The lads were only here a bit.
A bit?!
Youre blowing it all up. And honestly, he frowned it feels like youre trying to turn me against my son.

I looked at my husband and didnt recognise him at all.

We have to talk, Edward. About us. About where were headed.

He stiffened, but sat down opposite.

I cant go on like this, I spoke quietly, each word weighed. For six months now, all I get from Jack is rudeness. From you, complete indifference to how I feel.
Emma, I
Please let me finish. Ive really tried to be part of this family. But it isnt a family, is it? Its you, your son, and me just some woman tolerated because she cooks and cleans.
Thats not fair.
Not fair? When was the last time your son even said one kind thing to me? Whens the last time you backed me up?

Edward fell silent.

I love you, he said softly, at last. But Jack is my son. He comes first. Above everything.
Above me?
Above everything.

I nodded. My chest felt hollow and cold.

Thank you for your honesty.

Two days later, I found my favourite blouse the one my mum gave me for my birthday shredded into ribbons on my pillow. There was no question whod done it.

Jack! I marched into the lounge, clutching the scraps. Whats this?!

He shrugged, eyes on his phone.

No idea.
Thats my blouse!
So what?
Edward! I rang my husband. Get home now. Its urgent.

He arrived, glanced at the blouse, then at Jack, then at me.

Jack, did you do this?
No.
There you are, Edward shrugged. He says he didnt.
Who else? The cat? We dont have a cat!
Maybe you accidentally
Edward!

I looked at him and knew there was no point. Hed never change. Never take my side. For him, thered only ever be his son. I was just a convenient fixture.

Jacks still struggling without his mum, Edward repeated, for the hundredth time. You have to understand.
I understand, I said very quietly. I understand everything now.

That evening, I took out my suitcase.

What are you doing? Edward stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
Packing. Im leaving.
Emma, wait! Lets just talk.
Weve been talking for months. Nothing ever changes, I calmly folded my dresses. I deserve to be happy too, Edward.
Ill change! Ill talk to Jack!
Its too late.

I looked at my husband a handsome, grown man who never learned how to be a husband. Only a father. And even then, the sort whose blind love spoils rather than guides.

Ill be filing for divorce next week, I said as I zipped up my bag.
Emma!
Goodbye, Edward.

I left the flat without looking back. For a brief second, Jacks face appeared in the hallway mirror for the first time, there was something in his eyes besides contempt. Confusion? Fear? It no longer mattered to me.

My new rented place was tiny but cosy a one-bed in a quiet suburb, with a view of a peaceful back garden. I unpacked, made myself a cup of tea, and sat on the sill. For the first time in half a year, I felt calm.

…The divorce was finalised after two months. Edward tried to call several times, asked for another chance. I answered politely but firmly: no.

I didnt break, or grow bitter. I just realised that happiness isnt about patience or endless sacrifices. Its about being respected and valued. And one day, I know Ill find it just not with that man.

If theres one thing Ive truly learnt, its this: never let yourself become invisible in your own home. Everyone deserves to be seen.