I married a divorced man, and now I’m considering divorce myself—his daughter is planning to move into our one-bedroom flat.
When I married a divorced man just over two years ago, I had no doubts or reservations. I wasn’t afraid of his past—in fact, I thought he valued relationships and understood family. Our bond seemed strong until one announcement turned everything upside down.
“Emily’s coming to live with us soon. She’s starting university and will stay for a while—maybe a few months, maybe even a few years. We’ll see,” my husband said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I froze. The floor seemed to drop beneath me. A one-bedroom flat. The two of us. And now—his grown daughter, even if she was his flesh and blood. How could he think this was normal? Anger rose inside me like a wave.
“Why does she have to live here?” I asked bluntly. “Why not student housing? Plenty of students manage in halls—I shared a room with two girls and still graduated with honours. Why should she be different?”
But my words cut deep. His face flushed, his voice sharpened.
“Do you even realise she’s MY daughter? My ONLY one! I’ve missed her all these years. How could she stay in halls knowing I’m right here, keeping my door shut to her?”
And just like that, he made it clear—his decision was final, my opinion irrelevant. In that moment, I felt everything I’d built, every effort I’d put into our marriage, was wiped away. I was invisible. Unheard. In my own home, I was just a lodger, not his wife.
Yes, Emily is a sweet girl—polite, quiet, bright. I’ve never spoken ill of her. But how do we fit three adults into a cramped space meant for two? Where will she sleep? Study? What happens to our private evenings, to being a woman, not just a flatmate?
I couldn’t take it. “She’s not staying here,” I said, then walked out, slamming the door behind me. I wandered the streets for hours, crying until my throat ached. It wasn’t about Emily—it was about me. About my husband making life-altering choices without me. About realising I was just an afterthought.
Now, I don’t know what to do. One thought won’t leave me: Why stay with someone who doesn’t listen? Why sacrifice my peace for a man who’ll always say, “Your feelings don’t matter”?
I know this is just the start. More will come. He’ll always choose between me and his daughter—and we all know who’ll win. If I already feel like a stranger in my own home, what’s left?
Sometimes the hardest choice is walking away from someone you love. But staying where you’re unwanted? That’s worse.
