I married a divorced man, and now I’m considering divorce myself—his daughter is planning to move into our one-bedroom flat with us.
When I married him a little over two years ago, I had no doubts or reservations. I wasn’t afraid of his past—if anything, I believed he understood the value of relationships and family. Our bond seemed unshakable until one announcement turned everything upside down.
“Emily’s coming to stay with us soon,” my husband said the moment he walked in, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “She’s starting uni and will live here for a while—maybe a few months, maybe years. We’ll see.”
I froze. The room spun. A one-bedroom flat. Just the two of us. And now, suddenly, a grown woman—his daughter—moving in. I couldn’t fathom how he saw this as normal. Anger surged through me.
“Why should she live with us?” I demanded. “Why not student halls? Everyone else manages—I shared a room with two other girls when I was at uni, and I survived just fine with a first-class degree. Why is she any different?”
But my words only wounded him. His face flushed, his voice sharpened.
“Do you even understand she’s MY daughter? My ONLY child? I’ve missed her all these years. How could I let her stay in halls knowing I live nearby and my door is closed to her?”
And then it spiraled. He said the decision was already made, and my opinion didn’t matter. In that moment, I felt my whole life—every effort, every sacrifice for our marriage—swept aside like dust. I was nothing. My voice meant nothing. Even in my own home, I wasn’t his wife—just a lodger.
Don’t get me wrong—Emily’s a good girl. Polite, quiet, bright. I’ve never said a bad word about her. But how are three adults supposed to live in a space barely fit for two? Where will she sleep? Study? Where do our evenings alone go? Where do I exist as a woman, not just another flatmate?
I snapped. “She’s not living here,” I said, then walked out, slamming the door. I wandered the streets for hours, crying hysterically. This isn’t even about Emily. It’s about me. About how my husband made a life-altering choice without consulting me. About how, to him, I’m just an afterthought.
Now, I don’t know what to do. One thought keeps looping: Why stay with someone who doesn’t hear you? Why sacrifice comfort for a man who can dismiss you with, “I don’t care what you think”?
I know this is just the beginning. It’ll only get worse. He’ll always choose between me and his daughter—and we both know who’ll win. If I already feel like a stranger in my own home today, what comes next?
Sometimes the hardest choice is walking away from someone you love. But staying where you’re unwelcome? That’s worse.
