*”You’re nothing to me!”* — the cry of the stepdaughter cut deeper than any blade.
*”You’re nothing to me!”* Emily shrieked, slamming the door so hard the china in the cabinet rattled. The house fell into a dead silence. Louise sank onto the edge of a chair, clutching a mug long gone cold, the tea untouched.
*”Mum, what happened?”* asked little Grace, peering into the kitchen.
Louise just shook her head. Tears glistened in her eyes.
*”Emily again?”*
*”Her form tutor called…”* Louise whispered. *”It’s nothing, don’t worry…”*
Grace moved closer and wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders. *”Mum, don’t be upset. It’ll sort itself out.”* Though only thirteen, Grace carried a quiet wisdom beyond her years—sometimes seeming older than fifteen-year-old Emily, her stepsister.
Half an hour later, David returned from work. The scent of dinner filled the house. Everyone sat down—except Emily.
*”Where is she?”* he asked, eyeing the empty chair.
*”Upset,”* Grace murmured, stirring her soup carefully.
David glanced at his wife. She looked away guiltily.
*”Her teacher called. Emily’s failing everything. I tried to talk to her…”* Louise trailed off, blinking back tears.
David rose and walked to his daughter’s room. He knocked.
*”Go away!”* came the muffled reply.
*”It’s just me. Can I come in?”*
The door cracked open. Emily, satisfied no one else stood behind him, reluctantly let him in.
*”What’s all this mess?”* He eyed the scattered clothes and an empty pot noodle cup.
*”Louise keeps—”*
*”I rang Mrs. Thompson myself,”* he interrupted. *”You really are failing everything. What’s going on, Emily?”*
She said nothing, shoving textbooks into her backpack.
*”I’m not asking you to love Louise, but you could at least respect her. You hurt her every day.”*
*”And she doesn’t hurt me? You took her and Grace to Westfield, and I was left alone!”*
*”You forget I grounded you for sneaking out to Olivia’s at midnight?”*
*”Of course! I’m the bad one, and Grace is perfect!”*
*”Enough!”* David’s voice sharpened. *”You’re taking this too far!”*
He left without waiting for an answer. In the kitchen, Louise sat wringing her hands, words stuck in her throat. But when David met her eyes, she said nothing.
A few minutes later, she whispered, *”I don’t know what to do anymore. She pushes me away, she’s jealous of you. God knows I tried, but… I never could be someone she cared about.”*
*”I know, love,”* David murmured, pulling her close. *”But what do we do?”*
*”We should move out. Just for a while.”*
*”What?”* He drew back. *”You’re serious?”*
*”Maybe if it’s just you and her… something might change.”*
Hidden behind the door, Emily heard every word. Hope flared in her chest. *”Dad will be with me again.”*
The next morning, David told his daughter they were moving back to their old flat. Grace burst into tears, stormed into Emily’s room, and screamed, *”You hate my mum, and now you’re taking my dad!”* before slamming the door.
Emily hadn’t expected this. At first, she was triumphant—until she realized how hollow life without Louise had become. No home-cooked meals. No help with homework. David worked late; she boiled pasta and washed socks. He was stern, impatient. Nothing like Louise, who’d explain softly even when Emily screamed in her face.
Her birthday loomed. Emily decided to bake a cake. She found a recipe, whisked the batter—but lost track of time. The sponge burned black. When David came home, he found his daughter sobbing over the charred mess.
*”Dad… let’s go home,”* she whispered into his shoulder. *”I’m sorry. I love you… and Louise… and Grace…”*
*”I love you too, sweetheart. But going back isn’t that simple. We hurt them. We need to ask if they’ll even have us.”*
Emily stayed silent. Shame burned through her.
*”You have to understand,”* David said, *”Louise might not be your mother, but she deserves respect. And you owe her an apology.”*
That night, Emily couldn’t sleep. For the first time in ages, anger didn’t fill her—just shame and regret. By morning, she asked David to take her to Louise and Grace.
She apologized. Truly. With tears. To Louise. To Grace. And two days later, for the first time in her life, she whispered, *”Mum… I’m sorry.”*
No one could say who cried more in that moment.
