Dad’s Always Better – Max, we need to talk. Olga fussed nervously with the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary creases with trembling fingers betraying the worry hidden behind her steady tone. Max sat opposite, nose buried in his phone, thumbs darting across the screen in exaggerated focus. Deliberate ignoring – his favourite weapon. – Son… I need to explain something important. No response. Just clicks from the touchscreen. Olga took a deep breath, summoning courage for words she’d put off for a week. – When your dad and I divorced… it was six months before I introduced you to Steve. I didn’t rush, you see? I wanted to be sure it was serious. Max’s fingers froze above the phone. The teenager looked up slowly, outrage burning so fiercely in his eyes that Olga recoiled. – Serious? – he spat through clenched teeth. – You think it’s really serious with him, with some random guy? He’s not even worth Dad’s little finger! Dad’s still the best! Memories of that first meeting flashed sharply before Max’s eyes. The tall stranger on their doorstep, Mum’s nervous smile, the scent of foreign cologne in the hallway. An invader brazenly occupying Dad’s sacred place. – He’s not a stranger, – Olga protested gently. – He’s my husband. – YOUR husband! – Max slammed his phone down. – He’s not MY anything! My dad is Dad. This one… He left the rest unsaid, but the contempt in his voice said everything. Steve really tried. Oh God, did he try. Every evening, he disappeared into the garage, bending over Max’s battered bike. Blackened hands, a sweat-streaked brow, and that stubborn smile of a man determined to win at any cost. – Fixed the frame, – he’d say, wiping his hands. – You can ride it tomorrow? Silence in reply. Cold, ringing silence. At night, Steve sat with Max at the desk, explaining equations in simple terms. – Here, if you move the x over here… – I get it, – Max cut him off, though he clearly didn’t. Just wanted him gone. Each morning, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh pancakes and honey – the boy’s favourite treat. Steve stacked them neatly and set them before his stepson. – Dad made them thinner, – Max said after barely touching them. – And he bought real honey. Not this cheap stuff. Every caring gesture crashed against a wall of icy indifference. Max seemed to collect reasons for sarcasm, turning every detail into grounds for comparison. – Dad never shouted. – Dad always knew what I liked. – Dad did everything right. Olga and Steve’s wedding shattered the fragile truce. Max took the marriage certificate as betrayal – final and absolute. Home became a minefield: tense silence every morning, doors slammed every night. Max morphed into a secret agent, tracking every stepdad’s misstep like a detective. A harsh word at dinner – noted. An impatient sigh over homework – remembered. A tired “not now” after work – stashed with grievances. – Dad, he screamed at me again – Max whispered into his phone, locked in his bedroom. – Really? – Andrew on the other end clucked in exaggerated sympathy. – My poor boy. Remember when we went to the park every weekend? – I remember… – That was a real family. Not like this. Andrew painted their ordinary spats as dramas, crafting an idealised past where the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, and Dad never made mistakes. Steve felt like an unwanted guest in his own home. Every glance from Max shouted: you don’t belong. You’re taking someone else’s place. You’ll never be family. The pressure built, heavier each day, until it all snapped at dinner. – You have no right to tell me what to do! – Max exploded when Steve asked him to put his phone away. – You’re nothing to me! NOTHING! Olga froze with her fork in mid-air. Something inside her cracked. The hatred Max shot at Steve made the air thick. – Dad’s better than you at everything. And you… you just… Dad says you ruin everything! I’d be better off with him! – Enough, – Olga said quietly. – That’s enough. The next morning, she dialled her ex-husband, hands trembling but resolute. – Andrew, – her voice level, – since you say you’re the better parent, take Max. For good. I’ll pay maintenance if needed. The silence dragged on forever. – Well… see… right now… – Andrew stammered. – Work’s tough, business trips… Of course I’d love to, but… He hesitated, papers rustling on his end, coughing awkwardly. – And, well, Natasha… my girlfriend… she’s not ready for a kid in the flat. We just moved in together, you know… The pitiful excuses spilled from the same man who stoked their son’s discontent by phone each night, poisoning every spark of unrest. Now it was a one-bedroom flat. Renovations. Natasha’s not ready. – I understand, Andrew, – Olga said, calm. – Thanks for being honest. She hung up before he could respond. That evening Olga called Max into the lounge. He slumped into the armchair, face set in defiance, but something in his mum’s expression made him fall silent. – I spoke to your father today. Max leaned forward, tense. – And what did he say? Olga sat down opposite. – He’s not willing to take you. Not now, not ever. He’s got a new life, a new woman, and you’re not part of it. – You’re lying! You always lie! – Max flared. – Dad loves me! He said so… – Saying it’s easy. – Olga’s voice was quiet but firm. – But when I asked him to take you, he remembered his renovation and one-bedroom flat. Max opened his mouth but had nothing to say. – Listen carefully, – Olga said, leaning in. – No more comparisons. No more spy-games and reporting to Dad, no more rudeness to Steve. Either we’re a family – all three of us – or you go to Dad, who doesn’t want you. I’ll make him take you in, and you’ll see for yourself what he’s really like. Max sat frozen, wide-eyed. – Mum… – I’m not joking. – Olga stared at her son, not smiling. – I love you more than life, but I won’t let you destroy my marriage. You’re being awful. I’ve put up with it long enough. That’s it. Your choice. Max was stunned. The world – Dad the hero vs. stepdad the villain – splintered and shattered. Dad doesn’t want him. Dad chose Natasha and a renovation. Dad just… used him to hurt Mum? Understanding came slowly. All those evening calls, clucking sympathy, “what did he do now?” – not caring, but a weapon. Andrew stockpiled ammo for his petty revenge, and Max dutifully supplied it. The boy swallowed hard. And Steve? The same Steve he tormented for months? Who patiently fixed his bike while Max ignored the garage? Who woke early every morning for pancakes? Who didn’t leave, didn’t give up, didn’t stop trying – no matter what… …Change was hard. For weeks, Max hid in his room, avoided Steve’s eyes. He was too ashamed to admit how childish he’d been. Every time he saw his stepdad, he remembered “you’re nothing to me” and wished the floor would swallow him whole. Everyone walked on eggshells, spoke gently, in vague phrases. The house felt like intensive care, teetering between survival and disaster. The breakthrough came with a physics assignment. Max chewed his pencil for two hours, then finally admitted defeat. – Steve… – the name was hard to say, catching in his throat. – Can you help? Bit of a nightmare with these vectors. Steve looked up calmly, no surprise, no triumph – just acceptance. – Let’s take a look. A month later, they went fishing together. They sat on the bank, watching the bobbers, and Max started talking – about school, his mates, the girl in another year he liked. No bitterness, no comparisons. Just a chat. Steve listened, nodded, chimed in here and there. Max realised: this is a real family. Not grand declarations, or sugar-coated memories. It’s found in quiet breakfasts, patience, the determination to stay beside you even when the world’s against you. The boy had made his choice. The right choice…

Jack, we need to talk.

Helen nervously smoothed the tablecloth, fingers fussing with imaginary creases. Her hands shook, betraying a tension she tried to disguise with a steady voice. Jack sat opposite, glued to his phone, thumbs tapping with exaggerated intenthis favourite tactic for avoiding engagement.

Son, I want to explain something important.

No response. Just the sound of frantic tapping.

Helen drew in a long breath, mustering the courage for words shed been rehearsing all week.

When your dad and I split up, I waited six months before introducing you to David. I didnt rush, you see? I wanted to be certain it was serious.

Jacks thumbs stilled. He raised his head, and in his eyes blazed such indignation that Helen instinctively recoiled.

Serious? he spat. You think you and himsome random blokeare serious? Hes not even half the man Dad is! Dads still the best!

Memories of that first meeting hit Jack with cruel clarity. The tall stranger at their front door, Helens nervous smile, the foreign scent of aftershave in the hallway. An intruder, shamelessly claiming the sacred place of his father.

Hes not a stranger, Helen said softly. Hes my husband.
Yours! Jack flung the phone on the table. Hes no one to me! My dads my dad. And this guy

He didnt finish, but the scorn in his voice said it all.

David genuinely tried. God, how he tried. Evenings spent bent over Jacks battered bicycle in the shed, hands caked with oil, brow gleaming, lips pursed in the stubborn smile of someone determined to win over his stepson.

I fixed up the frame, hed say, wiping his hands on a rag. Want to go riding tomorrow?

Silence answered him. Frosty, ringing silence.

Some nights David would sit beside Jack at the desk, gently explaining maths equations.

Look, if we bring the X to this side
I get it, Jack would cut in, clearly not getting it. Anything for him to go away.

Every morning the kitchen filled with the scent of fresh pancakes with honeyJacks favourite. David neatly arranged them on a plate and set them in front of his stepson.

Dad made them thinner, Jack would mutter, barely touching his breakfast. And his honey was real. This isnt proper.

Every gesture of kindness shattered against a wall of icy indifference. Jack seemed to catalogue every moment, storing up petty grievances for barbed comparisons.

Dad never raised his voice.
Dad always knew what I liked.
Dad did everything right.

Helen and Davids wedding shattered their fragile truce. Jack saw the register as betrayalfinal and irrevocable. The house became a minefield. Every morning began with brittle silence; every evening ended in the bang of a slammed door.

Unnoticed, Jack turned into a secret agent, recording every misstep David made with investigative precision. A sharp word at supperwritten down. An exasperated sigh at homeworkremembered. A weary not now after workbanked among grievances.

Dad, he shouted at me again, Jack whispered into his phone, holed up in his bedroom.
Really? Pauls voice at the other end oozed affected sympathy. Poor lad. Remember how we went to Hyde Park every weekend?
I remember…
Thats what a real family is. Not like now.

Paul artfully painted their past in rosy coloursevery squabble with David twisted into high drama. He conjured up the golden days, where the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, and Dad never put a foot wrong.

David felt like a guest in his own home. Each glance from Jack screamed: you dont belong here, youre an imposter. Youll never be family.

The strain built up, layer upon layer, weighing him down.

It all unravelled one ordinary evening over dinner.

Youve got no right to discipline me! Jack exploded when David asked him to put the phone away. Youre nothing to me! Nothing! Got it?

Helen froze, fork suspended mid-air. Something inside her cracked. Her son looked at her husband with such hatred that it seemed to thicken the air.

My dads better than you in every way. And you… you justDad says you ruin everything! Id be better off with him!
Thats enough, Helen said quietly. Thats quite enough.

The following morning, Helen dialled her ex-husbands number. Her fingers trembled but determination kept her steady.

Paul, she began flatly, if you think youre the better parent, take Jack. For good. I wont stand in your wayIll even pay child maintenance.

Silence stretched on the line like an eternity.

Well… you see… its not a great time… Paul stammered. Work, travel, all sorts… Id love to, but…

He faltered, shuffled some papers, coughed.

Well, Helen… My place is tiny. One bedroom. And Im in the middle of decorating. Plus work is all over the place, you know the hours.

Helen stayed quiet, watching him tangle himself in excuses.

And Sarah… my girlfriend… shes not really ready for kids around. Weve just moved in together, still adapting…

Pitiful excuses from a man whod been poisoning her son against her new family. Who called at night, dripping venom into Jacks ear, turning sparks of resentment into bonfires. But nowall he could offer was a cramped flat, some painting, and Sarah wasnt keen.

I understand, Paul, Helen replied calmly. Thank you for being honest.

She hung up before he could say another word.

That evening, Helen called Jack into the lounge. He flopped down in the armchair, defiant as ever, but something in his mothers expression made him stop.

I spoke with your father today, she said.

Jack tensed, leaning forward.
And? What did he say?

Helen sat opposite.
Hes not ready to take younot now, not ever. He has a new life, a new woman, and youre not part of it.
Youre lying! Thats a lie! Jack snapped. Dad loves me! He said he
Words are easy, Helen answered softly. But when I offered him the chance, he remembered the paint fumes and his tiny flat.

Jack opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Now listen closely, Helen leaned in. No more comparisons. No more spying, no more reporting to Daddy, and no more rudeness to David. We are a familythe three of us. Or you go to your father, even though he doesnt want you. Ill make him take you if you like. And then youll see what hes really like.

Jack sat still, wide-eyed, every word sinking in.

Mum…
Im not joking, Helen said, her gaze unwavering. I love you more than anything. But I wont let you wreck my marriage. Youve behaved awfully, and Ive put up with it long enough. So its your choice. Decide.

Jack froze. The worldonce so simple: good dad versus bad stepdadshattered. Dad didnt want him after all. Dad picked Sarah and decorating. Dad just… used him to get back at Mum?

The painful truth dawned slowly. All those calls, the sympathetic noises, what else did he do?not care, but ammunition. Paul collected complaints as fuel for his petty revenge, and Jack dutifully supplied them.

He swallowed hard.

And David? The very David hed tormented for months, who spent hours fixing his bike, who woke early to make pancakes, who stayed, who refused to give up, who kept tryingno matter what.

Change was hard. For weeks Jack holed up in his room, avoiding eye contact with David, deeply ashamed of his own childishness. Each time he saw his stepfather, memories of snarling youre nobody to me made him want the ground to swallow him up.

Everyone tiptoed around each other. Conversations were careful, words tender. The house felt like a hospital ward, with hope hanging by a thread.

The first real step was a physics homework. Jack sat with it for two hours, gnawed his pencil, and finally, swallowing his pride, gave in.

David… The name stuck in his throat. Can you help? Somethings wrong with these vectors.

David looked up from his laptopno surprise, no triumph, just gentle readiness.

Lets see.

A month later, they went fishing together. They sat on the bank, watching the ripples, and Jack finally started talkingabout school, his mates, a girl in the other class whom he liked. No digs, no comparisons. Just honest conversation.

David listened, nodded, sometimes chimed in with his own stories. Jack realised what a real family meant. Not in grand statements of love, not in some perfect memorybut in quiet breakfasts, in patience, in the will to stick together through thick and thin.

Jack chose his family. Chose right.