You just wont get through to him.
Im not doing it! And stop bossing me about! Youre not my mum!
Ben hurled the plate into the sink so energetically that suds splashed across the countertop. Lizzie stopped breathing for half a second. The fifteen-year-old glared at her as though shed personally upended his world.
I simply asked you to help with the washing up, Lizzie said, striving for calm. Its a normal thing to ask.
My mum never made me do the dishes! Im not some girl! And youyoure no one to tell me what to do!
Ben spun on his heel, storming out of the kitchen. Seconds later, music thundered from his room loud enough to rattle the picture frames.
Lizzie leant against the fridge, eyes squeezed shut.
A year ago, all of this had seemed so different.
Matt had wandered into her life by pure chance. He was an engineer in another department at the same large construction firm, and their paths had kept crossing at staff meetings. First came coffees during lunch breaks, then dinners after work, and eventually late-night phone calls that stretched past midnight.
Ive got a son, Matt had admitted during their third date, fiddling nervously with his napkin. Bens fifteen. His mum and I split up two years ago. Hes well, its tough for him.
I understand, Lizzie said gently, reaching across to squeeze his hand. Kids always struggle with divorce. Its normal.
Are you sure youre ready for both of us?
In that moment, Lizzie truly believed she was. At thirty-two, with one unsuccessful childless marriage behind her, she was desperate for a real family. Matt seemed like the sort you could build something lasting with.
Six months later, he proposedin an adorably awkward way, hiding the ring inside a box of her favourite Chelsea buns. Lizzie burst out laughing and said yes without an instants hesitation.
They had a quiet wedding: parents from both sides, a couple of close mates, a mid-range curry house with dubious carpet. Ben sat glued to his phone the entire evening, not once glancing up at the happy couple.
Hell come round, Matt whispered, noticing Lizzies uncertainty. Just give him some time.
Lizzie moved into Matts roomy three-bed the following day. The flat was bright and airy, with a proper kitchen and a balcony overlooking the garden. But from the very first moment, she felt more like a visitor than a resident.
Ben looked straight past her, like she was part of the wallpaperthere and yet not there. When she entered a room, hed immediately slap on his headphones. Whenever Lizzie tried to start a conversation, hed grunt an answer in the general direction of anywhere but her.
The first couple of weeks, Lizzie chalked it up to adjustment. The lad needed time. Accepting a new stepmum wasnt easy. Things would settle down.
They did not settle down.
Ben, please dont eat in your room. Im not waging war against cockroaches in this house.
Dad always let me.
Ben, have you finished your homework?
None of your business.
Ben, pick up after yourself, will you?
You do it. Clearly youre bored and need something to do.
She tried to talk to Matt cautiously, picking her words, determined not to sound like some wicked stepmother out of Dickens.
I think we need some basic rules, she said one night after Ben had gone to his cave. No food in rooms, cleaning up after yourself, doing homework by a certain time
Lizzie, hes struggling already. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. The divorce, you moving in Lets not put more pressure on.
Im not putting pressure on. I just want the place to run smoothly.
Hes still just a kid.
Hes fifteen, Matt. He can manage the odd dirty plate.
Matt sighed and turned on the telly, signal that the conversation was finished.
Everything got steadily worse. When Lizzie asked Ben to help take out the bins, he looked at her with something close to horror.
Youre not my mum. You never will be. Stop bossing me around.
Im not bossing you. Im asking for help in a house we all live in.
This isnt your house. Its my dads. And mine.
So she tried going to Matt again. He nodded, promised to have a word, but nothing changedor maybe those chats never happened at all. Lizzie began to wonder.
Ben started wandering in after midnight. Never a text, never a call. Lizzie would lie awake, straining with every car-door slam outside, while Matt snored merrily beside her.
Could you at least ask him to let us know where he is? she said over breakfast, cheeks tight with anxiety. Anything could happen.
Hes old enough, Lizzie. He doesnt need checking up on.
Hes fifteen.
I was out late at his age too.
Could you maybe explain that it worries us?
Matt shrugged and headed off to work.
Every suggestion for a bit of order exploded in her face. Ben would scream, slam doors, blame Lizzie for wrecking the family. And Matt? Matt always sided with his boy.
Hes having a rough time, Matt repeated, mantra-like. You just have to understand.
And Im not? Lizzie blurted one evening. Im living surrounded by hostility and my husband acts like its all fine.
Youre exaggerating.
Am I? Your son told me, word for word, that Im nobody in this house!
Hes a teenager. Theyre all a pain.
She rang her mum, because her mum always knew what to say.
Love, I can hear how miserable you are, her mum said, voice gravelly with concern.
Mum, Im at a loss. Matt wont even admit theres a problem.
He wont see it because he doesnt want to. Hes fine. Only one of you is hurting, and its you.
There was a pause as her mum collected her thoughts.
You deserve better, darling. Dont forget that.
Ben, sensing his total freedom, got bolder. Drum and bass boomed until 3am. Dirty dishes popped up everywhereon the side table, windowsills, the bathroom sink. Socks littered the hallway. Schoolbooks lived on the kitchen counter.
Lizzie did the cleaning because she couldnt stand the mess. She cleaned and she cried, feeling utterly powerless.
After a while, Ben stopped even acknowledging her. The only time she existed was when he needed a fresh excuse for rudeness.
You just cant connect with kids, Matt declared one morning. Maybe youre half the issue?
Connect? Lizzie let out a hollow laugh. For six months Ive tried. And he calls me that womaneven in front of you.
Youre being dramatic.
The last olive branch took an entire day. She scoured the internet for a recipe for Bens favourite: honey roast chicken with proper roasties. She splashed out on Waitrose ingredients and spent four hours over the stove.
Ben! Dinner! she called, laying out the table.
The teenager shuffled in, gave the plate a look of utter scorn.
Im not eating that.
Why not?
Because you cooked it.
He left. The front door banged a minute lateroff to his mates.
Matt got home, saw the cold dinner and the shattered look on Lizzies face.
What happened?
She told him. Matt sighed.
Oh, Lizzie Dont take it to heart. He doesnt mean it.
Doesnt mean it? He goes out of his way to humiliate me, Matt. Every, single, day.
Youre overreacting.
A week after that, Ben invited half his class home. Five lads arrived, leaving the remains of every snack in the fridge all around the kitchen.
Out, now! Its nearly 11pm! Lizzie strode into the lounge, where the group slouched, feet on the sofa.
Ben didnt even look up.
This is my house. Ill do what I want.
Its our house. And there are rules here.
Rules? One of Bens mates sniggered. Whos this?
No one. Ignore her, Ben said drily.
Lizzie retreated to the bedroom to ring Matt. He showed up an hour later (after the chaos had subsided), surveyed the mess, then glanced at his frazzled wife.
Lizzie, whats with the drama? They were just here for a bit.
A bit?
Youre blowing it out of proportion. Honestly, I get the feeling you want to turn me against my son.
She stared at her husband, suddenly unrecognisable.
Matt, we need to talk. Properly. About us. About what happens next.
He tensed but took a seat.
I cant go on like this, Lizzie said slowly, weighing every syllable. Six months Ive put up with disrespect. Bens rudeness. Your total indifference to what Im feeling.
Lizzie, I
Let me finish. Ive tried. Genuinely. Tried to be part of this family. But it isnt a family, is it? Its you, your son, and methe strange woman you tolerate because I happen to organise dinner.
Youre being unfair.
Am I? Whens the last time your son even said a kind word to me? Or you stood up for me?
Matt was silent.
I do love you, he said at last, barely audible. But Bens my son. He comes first.
Before me?
Before anyone.
Lizzie nodded. There was an ache in her chest, and it was ice-cold.
Thanks for being honest.
Two days later, Lizzie found her favourite blousea birthday present from her mumslashed into ribbons on her pillow. She knew exactly whod done it.
Ben! she shouted, storming in with the scraps. What the hell is this?
He shrugged, eyes glued to his phone.
No idea.
Thats my blouse!
So?
Matt! she rang her husband. Come home. Now.
Matt arrived, looked at the remains of the blouse, then his son, then his wife.
Ben, did you do this?
No.
See? Matt said with an air of finality. He says he didnt do it.
Who then? The cat? We havent got a cat, Matt!
Maybe you did it by mistake…
Matt!
Lizzie stared at her husband and realised it was hopeless. He was never going to step up. Never going to be anything other than Bens father. She was just a background character.
Bens struggling without his mum, Matt repeated for the thousandth time. You have to understand.
I do understand, Lizzie said, quiet and tired. I really do.
That evening, she fetched her suitcase.
What are you doing? Matt stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
Im packing. Im leaving.
Lizzie, wait! Cant we talk?
Weve talked for six months. Nothing changes, Lizzie said, folding dresses into her bag. I deserve a shot at happiness too, Matt.
I can change! Ill talk to Ben!
Too late.
She glanced at her husbandthe handsome, supposedly grown-up man who had never learned how to be a husband, only a father. An impressively indulgent father at that.
Ill file for divorce next week, Lizzie said, zipping up her suitcase.
Lizzie!
Goodbye, Matt.
Without a backwards glance, she left. In the corridor, she caught a glimpse of Bens facesomething other than contempt lingered for the first time. Bewilderment? Panic? Lizzie didnt care anymore.
The little flat she rented was tiny but homelya one-bed in a quiet suburb, windows looking out on a peaceful garden. Lizzie unpacked, made a cup of tea, and perched on the windowsill. For the first time in half a year, she felt calm.
The divorce was finalised two months later. Matt rang a handful of times, begged for a second chance. Lizzie stayed polite, but firm: no.
She hadnt broken. She hadnt grown bitter. Shed simply realised that happiness isnt about saintly patience or endless sacrifice. Its about being respected and valued. And one day, shed find it again.
Just not with that particular bloke.
