“You mean nothing to me!” — the scream from the stepdaughter cut deeper than any knife.
“You mean nothing to me!” shouted Emily, slamming the door so hard the china in the cabinet rattled. The house fell into dead silence. Olivia sank onto the edge of the chair, clutching a mug of long-cold tea.
“Mum, what happened?” asked little Charlotte, peering into the kitchen.
Olivia just shook her head, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Was it Emily again?”
“Her form tutor called…” Olivia whispered. “It’s nothing, don’t worry…”
Charlotte stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her mother’s shoulders.
“Mum, please don’t be upset. It’ll be alright.” Even at thirteen, Charlotte carried a quiet wisdom beyond her years—sometimes it seemed she was more mature than her fifteen-year-old stepsister.
Half an hour later, James returned from work. The scent of dinner filled the house. Everyone sat at the table—except Emily.
“Where is she?” he asked, glancing at the empty chair.
“She’s upset,” Charlotte replied, stirring her soup carefully.
James looked at his wife. Olivia dropped her gaze.
“Her tutor called. Emily’s failing every subject. I tried to talk to her…” Olivia trailed off, swallowing back tears.
James stood 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. When Emily saw no one else was there, she reluctantly let him in.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, eyeing the mess of clothes and an empty Pot Noodle wrapper.
“Olivia’s always—” Emily began, but James cut her off.
“I spoke to Mrs. Thompson myself. You *are* failing. What’s wrong, Emily?”
She stayed silent, shoving textbooks into her bag.
“I don’t expect you to love Olivia, but you could at least respect her. You hurt her every day.”
“And she doesn’t hurt *me*? You took *her* and Charlie shopping last weekend while I stayed home alone!”
“Forgotten already? I grounded you for sneaking out to your friend’s at midnight!”
“Of course! I’m the villain, and Charlie’s the saint!”
“Enough!” James’s voice turned sharp. “You’re being unfair.”
He left without waiting for a reply. In the kitchen, Olivia sat twisting her hands, words caught in her throat. She met her husband’s eyes but said nothing. Finally, she whispered:
“I don’t know what to do anymore. She pushes me away. She’s jealous of you. I *tried*… but I never became anyone important to her.”
“I know, love,” James murmured, pulling her close. “But what do we do?”
“We need to move out. Just for a while,” Olivia forced the words out.
“What?” He pulled back. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe if she has you to herself… maybe she’ll change.”
Emily heard everything, pressed against the door. A desperate hope flared in her chest. *Dad will live with just me again.*
The next morning, James told Emily they were moving back to the old flat. Charlotte burst into tears, storming into Emily’s room.
“You hate my mum, and now you’re stealing my dad!” she screamed before slamming the door.
Emily hadn’t expected this. At first, she was thrilled—until she realised how hard life was without Olivia’s hands. No cooked meals. No help with homework. James was at work constantly, leaving her to microwave meals and wash socks. He grew short-tempered, impatient—nothing like Olivia, who’d stayed calm even when Emily screamed in her face.
Her birthday approached. Emily decided to bake a cake. She mixed the batter, but lost focus. The sponge burned. When James got home, he found her crying over the charred mess.
“Dad… can we go home?” she whispered into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I love you… and Olivia… and Charlie.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. But we can’t just go back. We hurt them. We need to ask if they’ll even have us.”
Emily swallowed hard. Shame burned in her chest.
“You need to understand,” James said softly. “Olivia may not be your mother, but she *does* deserve respect. And you need to apologise.”
Emily didn’t sleep that night. For once, she wasn’t angry—just ashamed. The next morning, she asked James to take her to Olivia and Charlotte.
She apologised. Sincerely. Through tears. To Olivia. To Charlotte. And two days later, for the first time in her life, she whispered, “Mum… I’m sorry.”
No one knew who cried harder in that moment.
