23April
Andrews voice trembled with indignation as he pleaded, You cant just kick the child out, Olivia! Shes small, in a town she doesnt know. Do you realise what could happen to her? He reminded me that I was her mother and urged me to imagine the horror if anyone did the same to my son, Kyle.
I snapped back, Kyle isnt like that at all. She may be only fourteen, but shes got the tongue of a thirtyyearold. If she has the nerve to snipe at an adult aunt, shell manage the train station on her own.
I knew I was overreacting. My daughterinlaw had no ticket for my son, nor any acquaintances in Manchester. I was effectively sending my girl into the ether. But Id grown indifferent; I could no longer tolerate that brat in a skirt.
—
When I first met Andrew, he seemed like a breath of fresh air. My first marriage wasnt a disaster, but it lacked love. I married Simon Clarke out of convenience. He was the heir to affluent parents, lived lavishly, never bothered to think, and took good care of me.
I convinced myself that such a man was ideal for a familyour children would never want for anything. My own feelings were the last thing on my mind. No spark, no romance; life isnt a fairytale, and not everyone falls headoverheels. At least he was a decent bloke who wouldnt hurt me.
In some ways I was right: our only son, Kyle, never wanted for anything. Yet when he grew up and became independent, my husband and I realised we were almost strangers. We shared no interests, no topics for conversation. I even started taking holidays alone, away from Simon. His infatuation had faded, leaving nothing behind.
At first we tried to live side byside as amicable friends, but the experiment collapsed spectacularly. Andrews habits irritated me to the coreleaving puddles in the bathroom after his shower, snoring, chewing, even the way he breathed. He, in turn, started flirting with younger women, calling it a boredom pill.
Eventually we divorced. Simon left one flat for my son and me. I spent months adjusting to life on my own, then absurdly I craved love, even if just once.
With that hope, I signed up to an online dating site, but I quit after a few weeks. The men I met were a mess: some couldnt even find work by forty, others spewed abuse about exwives. Even the decent ones vanished after the first date. I couldnt see the problem until one newcomer lifted the veil.
Our next meeting was dreadful. An hour in, the man started grabbing me, trying to kiss me, despite my firm Thats too fast for me. He then kept urging me to invite him over. I excused myself, saying I had to pick up my son from school.
Later that evening, a private message pinged on my phone:
Couldnt you have been straight with me? Ive wasted my time. Divorced women with baggage arent my thing.
Hed been there when we sat in the café. It wasnt about my son; the label divorced had killed any desire to continue. Men really do see that as a drawback, even if my boy is fifteen and earns more in the summer than some of my suitors.
I was about to give up on the dream entirely, when the most pleasant thing happened unexpectedly.
I met Andrew at a friends birthdayMarthas. He was charming, pouring champagne, offering salads, laughing at my jokes, and eventually asked for my number.
Martha warned, Olivia, be careful. He comes with an exwife and a daughter.
I shrugged, So what? Im no maiden either. Life throws all sorts at us.
Andrew later explained gently that his marriage had broken down because his exwife constantly sparked arguments. I was surprised; he seemed calm, gentlehardly the type to provoke fights.
Soon the truth emerged, and it didnt sit well with me.
Love, Ill be a bit late tonight. I need to swing by Vickys; she asked me to collect a bike for Claire. Hed been late three times in a week. Vicky couldnt even change a lightbulb without his help. At first I tried to be understandingshed only recently divorced and was adjusting, just as I once did. But the constant interruptions grew irritating.
You know how I feel about this. Cant you just say no to her? It feels like theres something going on between you two.
Im not abandoning Claire. Families fall apart, but the children stay, you know?
I get it, Im not against you helping, but not endlessly. Lets send Vicky money for a tradesperson instead of you being there every time.
Fine, love
No more Olivia. Either you go home or you stay with Vicky for good.
It was a battle, but I finally forced Andrew to cut back on visits to his exwife. Still, he wanted to see his daughter, so Claire started coming over on weekends, and each visit turned into a test of my patience.
The first night she demanded that Andrew sleep in her room, saying she was scared of being alone. Then she raided my perfume shelf, dousing herself in an expensive fragrance. By the third visit she was fussing about food.
I wont eat this, she announced, pushing her plate away. Its bland. Mums cooking is better.
Im not feeding you forever, dear, I snapped. Either you go to your mothers or youll starve.
Are you kicking me out? Ill tell mum I wasnt fed here! she pouted, crossing her arms.
Thats enough, love, Andrew intervened, Lets order a pizza.
Every weekend ended in a quarrel. She acted as if the house were hers, making it clear she didnt recognise me as a mother. I sensed she wanted Andrew to spend more time with her, perhaps even to return to her mothers. She was slowly, deliberately, rewiring his affection.
My friend warned me, Youll end up chasing her to another town.
I never imagined a divorced woman could bring a mans baggage, I sighed.
Eventually I took the advice seriously. My son, Kyle, was already living on his own in York, and I had nothing anchoring me here. We moved to a cottage on the outskirts of a seaside town in Cornwall. For two blissful years the quiet, the sea, and the sense of a fresh start were perfect.
Then Andrew muttered, Love, Vicky called. She wants Claire for a months summer break because of health issues. The doctor advised a seaside stay, but the holidays are pricey, and Vickys off work in winter.
I stared at him like a bull at a gate.
No, not Claire! I blurted.
I spoke to her. Shes understood and promises to behave.
I protested at first, then gave inafter all, she was his daughter, and he hadnt seen her in ages.
The first week she behaved, mostly staying in her room or walking with Andrew. Then the chaos resumed.
Claire, could you not wear your outdoor shoes indoors? Its not the norm here.
I forgot to take them off, she chirped, smiling. Its always dirty anyway.
She invited guests over without asking, helped herself to groceries Id asked her not to touch, blasted music at full volume late at night, and when we asked her to be quiet she claimed shed left her headphones at home, promising to buy new ones if we did. Her mother Vicky kept phoning me in a fury over these incidents.
My patience finally snapped when Claire accidentally shattered the delicate teacup Kyle had given me on his first paycheck.
Oh, its nothing, she shrugged. Seems like youve got plenty of cups, right?
That afternoon I told Andrew I could not bear the constant turmoil any longer.
He defended his daughter, Olivia, she may be in the wrong, but shes still a child. Youre an adult; you could try to find some common ground, even once a year.
Otherwise you just dont care what happens to my stepdaughter.
I slept that night in the spare bedroom, refusing to be near Andrew. By morning both he and Claire were gone.
He vanished for three days, presumably taking Claire somewhere for a safety trip. He ignored my calls and texts. When he finally returned on the fourth day, he announced cheerfully, Im home. Ill be back tomorrow by six.
I could have pretended everything was fine, as I did when he visited his ex every other day, but the war had worn me out.
Andrew, dont be angry, but go back to Vicky. Some couples thrive together, others apart. It seems thats the case for you two.
Its fine, love. I just dropped Claire off.
It would be better if she never came back, or if you finally set her straight. Youve never done that in all these years.
I was exhausted, fighting in my own house, battling a man who cared more for his comfort than for me. I realized that love for another had to start with love for myself. Watching exwives on social media no longer fit into that definition.
Now I sit here, pen in hand, wondering if the next chapter will finally be written on my own terms.
