My husband and daughter always ignored me, so I left quietly. Then they began to panic…
My name was Mary. I was thirty years old, working as a clerk in an identification company, and until recently, I had believed my life with my husband, Marcus, and his daughter, Emily, was the “new family” I had always dreamed of.
Marcus was nine years my senior. He was divorced when we met, raising Emily alone after his ex-wife relinquished custody and vanished. Emily was twelve thenstylish, with bright eyes and remarkably polite when Marcus first introduced us.
“Pleased to meet you. Im Emily. Thank you for looking after Dad.”
Her cheerfulness eased my nervous hands. I had braced for rejection, but instead, she seemed genuinely glad I was there.
I thought: Shes alone, without a mother. Perhaps I could be that person.
A year later, Marcus proposed. My parents hesitatedwho wouldnt, when the man already had a daughter?but convinced by my resolve, they gave their blessing. I married Marcus and moved into the flat he shared with Emily.
At first, all was well. Emily even called me “Mum.” Marcus was affectionate. We dined together, watched comedy shows. I thought the story was writing itself.
But as months passed, small cracks appeared.
One evening after supper, Emily left her plate on the table and lounged on the sofa with her phone.
“Emily, clear your plate. Youre old enough.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, really? Mum, cant you do it?”
I froze. “No. Youre in secondary school. You need to learn to take care of yourself.”
“Stop nagging! Youre so annoying.”
Marcus sided with her. “Dont be so hard on her, Mary. Shes still a child. You should tidy up.”
My face burned. “I wont coddle her because shes my stepdaughter. I want her to grow up.”
But the seed was sown. From then on, Emily resisted every request. Marcus indulged her. Chores, shopping, cleaninggradually, it all fell to me.
When I pleaded”Were a family; we should work together”Marcus dismissed me: “Housework is womens work.” Emily sneered: “Youre such a cold mother.”
Though I worked full-time, they treated me like a maid.
Then came school troubles. Emily was fourteen, preparing for entrance exams to a prestigious grammar school. She was clever but lazy, spending afternoons scrolling through her phone.
“Emily, you need to study. Grammar school will be harder.”
She scoffed. “Shut up. Youre not my real mother.”
Marcus added, “Dont pressure her. Shell manage. Shes reliable.”
We argued fiercely. The more I insisted, the colder Marcus grew. Sometimes he came home late, muttering about “work.” I suspected he was avoiding me.
Tension filled the flat. I considered divorce but waveredwould I disappoint my parents after convincing them this was right?
Then, one morning, everything changed.
“Good morning, Emily. Breakfast is ready.”
She walked past without a word.
“Emily?”
Nothing.
That evening, I called Marcus. “Theres something I want to discuss about Emily…”
Silence. He didnt even turn his head.
Day after day, they ignored me. Greetings, questions, attempts to talknothing. I was invisible. They chatted between themselves, but the moment I spoke, their eyes glazed over.
I cooked, cleaned, laundered, yet even a “thank you” was absent. On weekends, they went out together, leaving me alone in the flat I once called home.
I tried againEmilys favourite shepherds pie, Marcuss preferred ale in the fridge. Nothing. The silence pressed in like walls.
I cried in the shower where no one heard. Why?
The answer came by chance.
One evening, I returned early and heard voices from the half-open living room door.
Emily giggled. “Mums so naive. Ha! The silent treatment works. She shuts up and does everything.”
Marcus laughed. “Exactly. Shes stopped nagging and still pays all the bills. Shes a useful housekeeper now.”
Emily crowed, “Ill need more money for school. Mum can just work harder! Im youngI shouldnt do chores. Its perfect. Lets keep ignoring her.”
My heart pounded. My husband and stepdaughterlaughing at how easily theyd turned me into a servant.
Heat rose in my chest. I bit my lip so hard it bled.
I would never forgive them.
The next morning, I tried once more: “Good morning.”
They ignored me; Emily even clicked her tongue.
After they left, I silently packed my bags. I took only essentials, locked the door, and walked away without a note.
I went to my parents. I feared their disappointment. Instead, Mum took my hand, her eyes damp. “Stay as long as you need. It must have been so hard.”
Dad said sharply, “You did all you could. Thats enough.”
Tears Id held for months spilled over. For the first time in two years, I felt seen.
Days later, my phone rang. Marcus. Against sense, I answered.
“Where the hell are you?” he shouted. “How dare you leave? Youre her motherhave you no shame? Come home now!”
I held the phone away, then spoke coldly. “No, Marcus. Im not coming back. I want a divorce.”
“Dont be absurd! Were not divorcing over a little silence!”
He was panickingbecause without me, there was no maid.
Softly, I said, “Lets divorce. Why dont you admit youve been unfaithful?”
Silence. Then: “What… what are you talking about?”
But I knew. The mysterious calls Id received were from Marcuss lovers husband. He hadnt been working late; hed been dining with her. Sometimes he even took Emily, whod sighed once, “Dads girlfriends so pretty. I wish she were my mum.”
I interrupted. “Ill file for maintenance. And the flat isnt yours. Its mine. Dad bought it before we married, in my name. Ive already moved my things and put it up for sale. Your and Emilys belongings? Sent to your parents. Good luck.”
Silence.
Then Marcuss voice, desperate: “Mary, please. Im sorry. I love only you. Forgive me.”
But the words washed over me like water.
“You and Emily didnt want a wife or mother. You wanted a housemaid. Its over.”
I hung up.
My husband and daughter always ignored me, so I left quietly. Then they began to panic…
The divorce was swift once my solicitor stepped in. The facts were clear: Marcuss affair, his financial recklessness, his treatment of me. His lovers husband filed his own suit. They, drunk on their little “romance,” were suddenly buried in legal claims.
Marcus drained his savings paying both child maintenance and damages. It wasnt enough. He took loans.
Meanwhile, Marcus and Emily were evicted from my flat, sold within weeks. With the money, I bought a modest apartment near my officequiet, sunlit, filled only with things I chose.
Marcus and Emily ended up in a dingy rental across town.
At first, I felt littlejust relief. But then the calls resumed.
“Mary, please. Lets reconcile. Emily wants to apologise too.”
But his voice held desperation, not love. He wanted the stability Id once providedmoney, chores, silence.
“No,” I said sharply. “You told me I was nothing without you. Now you seewithout me, youre nothing.”
I hung up.
Months passed.
I heard snippets from acquaintances. Marcuss debts mounted. Emily attended a state school instead of the grammar shed boasted of. At first, she acted superior, but her arrogance isolated her. Friends drifted away. She spent more time at home. Neighbors complained about the stench from their flat.
One day, Marcus called again, his voice broken.
“Mary, please. I cant do this. Emily wont leave her room. She screams at me. The place is filthy. Theyre threatening to evict us. Please… come back. For Emily, if not for me.”
A pang of sadness hit me. Once, Id wanted to be Emilys mother. Once, Id tried.
But I remembered her voice: “The silent treatment works. Mums so naive.”
Shed mocked me to her father, treated me like rubbish.
“No,” I said. “You created this. Live with it.”
“Mary”
I hung up again.
The divorce was final. The settlement paid. Papers signed.
I blocked Marcuss number and threw myself into work. My colleagues noticed the changeI
