I sit in the kitchen of our small flat in Manchester, clutching a cup of tea gone cold, anger rising like a bitter knot in my throat. My husband, James, and I built this family together, and on the surface, everything seems finea cosy home, a car, a steady income. Yet our happiness is crumbling because of his seventeen-year-old son from his first marriage, Ethan, who now lives with us. He splits his time between his mothers place and ours, but lately, hes been staying here more often, turning my life into a nightmare.
Ethan is like a splinter in my heart. He treats me like a maid, leaves his mess everywhere, ignores dirty dishes, and answers my requests for help with nothing but a shrug. The worst part? He takes it out on my four-year-old son, Oliver. Ive seen him smack the back of Olivers head just because the boy brushed against his phone. My little girl, Lily, sleeps in our roomtheres no space for a cot in this cramped two-bedroom flat. If Ethan would just go back to his mothers, we could finally make a proper room for the children.
But Ethan wont leave. His school is just down the road, and hed rather live with his dad. He spends his days glued to his computer, shouting into his headset while gaming, keeping Oliver awake. Im exhaustedcooking, cleaning, the childrenand he wont lift a finger to help. His presence hangs over our home like a storm cloud, poisoning every moment.
Ive begged James to talk to him, to convince Ethan to go back to his mother. His ex-wife, Charlotte, lives alone in a spacious three-bedroom house. Meanwhile, the four of us are squeezed into this tiny flat where every corner screams how little space we have. Is that fair? If only Ethan got along with my children, but hes cruel to them. Olivers starting to mimic him, growing rude and spoiled. Im terrified hell turn out just as cold, just as arrogant.
James wont act. “Hes my sonI cant just kick him out,” he says, blind to my pain. We fight about Ethan almost every night. I feel like a broken-down horse, dragging this household alone while my husband turns a blind eye to his sons behaviour. Im sick of the excuses, sick of this blind love for a boy whos tearing us apart.
One day, I couldnt take it anymore. Ethan snapped at Oliver over a spilled drop of juice, and I lost it.
“Thats enough! This isnt a hotel! If youre not happy, go back to your mums!”
He just smirked.
“This is my home too. Im not going anywhere.”
I shook with helpless rage. James, hearing the shouting, took his side, accusing me of “not trying hard enough.” I fled to the bedroom, clutching a sobbing Lily, tears streaming down my face. Why should I put up with this arrogant boy when his mother lives in comfort without a thought for him?
I need a way out. Maybe I could talk to Ethan directlyexplain hed be better off at his mums, that he can take the bus to school. But Im afraid hell just laugh in my face, that James will call me heartless. I dream of Ethan vanishing from our lives, of my children growing up in peace. But every sneering look, every rough shove reminds me hes herean intruder I cant shake.
Sometimes I imagine packing my bags, taking the kids to my mothers, leaving James to deal with his son alone. But I love him, and I dont want to break our family. All I want is a quiet home. Why should I suffer, watching Ethan hurt my babies while his mother enjoys her freedom? Im tired of the anger, tired of fearing for my children. I need an escapebut I dont know where to find it.
