You Just Can’t Find Common Ground With Him “I’m not doing that! Don’t order me around! You’re nothing to me!” Daniel slammed the plate into the sink so hard that water sprayed across the kitchen counter. Anna stopped breathing for a moment. The fifteen-year-old glared at her with the kind of fury you’d think only someone who’d had their life ruined could muster. “I just asked you to help with the washing up,” Anna tried to keep her voice calm. “It’s a normal request.” “My mum never made me do dishes! I’m not a girl! Who are you anyway to start giving orders?” Daniel turned on his heel and stormed out. Seconds later, music blasted through his bedroom walls. Anna leaned against the fridge and closed her eyes. A year ago, everything seemed so different… Max walked into her life by chance. He was an engineer in the next department of a large London construction firm. They kept running into each other at meetings. First coffee over lunch breaks, then dinners after work, long phone conversations until midnight. “I’ve got a son,” Max confessed on their third date, fiddling with a napkin. “Daniel’s fifteen. His mum and I divorced two years ago, and he’s… he’s finding it hard.” “I understand,” Anna placed her hand over his. “Children always struggle when parents split. It’s normal.” “Are you really ready to take us both on?” Anna truly believed she was. She was thirty-two, with a failed first marriage but no children, and she longed for a real family. Max seemed just the man to build it with. Half a year later, he proposed—awkwardly but endearingly—hiding the ring in a box of her favourite Mark & Spencer pastries. Anna laughed and said yes without a moment’s hesitation. They held a small wedding: parents from both sides, a few close friends, a modest gastropub in Islington. Daniel stared at his phone the entire evening, never once glancing at the couple. “He’ll come round,” Max whispered, noticing Anna’s nerves. “Give him time.” Anna moved into Max’s spacious three-bed flat in Clapham the day after the wedding. It was a lovely place—bright, big kitchen, a balcony looking out over the communal gardens. But from the start Anna felt like a guest in someone else’s home… Daniel looked through her as if she were furniture—past her, beyond her, not bothering to notice. If Anna entered a room, he’d pointedly pull on his headphones. If she asked him anything, he’d grunt a monosyllable without meeting her eyes. For the first two weeks Anna put it down to adjustment. Of course, it’s hard for a teenage boy. Hard to accept that Dad has a new wife. It’ll settle down. It didn’t. “Daniel, please, don’t eat in your room. It’ll bring mice.” “Dad let me.” “Daniel, have you done your homework?” “None of your business.” “Daniel, tidy up after yourself, please.” “Do it yourself. You’ve got nothing better to do.” Anna tried to talk to Max. Treading carefully, trying not to sound like a wicked stepmother. “I think we need some basic house rules,” she said one night after Daniel had disappeared to his room. “No eating in bedrooms, clean up after yourself, homework before gaming…” “Anna, he’s struggling,” Max rubbed his temples. “The divorce, a new person in the house… Let’s not push him.” “I’m not pushing. I just want some order.” “He’s still a child.” “He’s fifteen, Max. He should know how to put his cup in the dishwasher by now.” But Max only sighed and switched on the football, making it clear the discussion was over. Things got worse day by day. When Anna asked Daniel to take the rubbish out, he looked at her with open contempt. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be. You can’t boss me around.” “I’m not bossing. I’m asking for help. We all live here.” “This isn’t your house. It’s my dad’s. And mine.” Anna tried to talk to her husband again. He listened, nodded, promised to have a word. But nothing changed—or maybe those chats never even happened. Anna lost track. Daniel started coming home long after midnight. No warning, no calls. Anna would lie awake, straining to hear each creak in the corridor. Max snored beside her, blissfully unbothered. “Can you just tell him to message when he’s out late?” Anna pleaded over breakfast. “Anything could happen.” “He’s old enough, Anna. You can’t control him.” “He’s fifteen!” “I was always out late at that age.” “Still, can’t you talk to him? Say we worry?” Max shrugged and left for work. Every attempt at boundaries became a row. Daniel would shout, slam doors, accuse Anna of breaking up their family. Every time, Max sided with his son. “He’s hurting after the divorce,” he repeated like a mantra. “You need to understand.” “And what about me?” Anna finally snapped. “I live in a home where I’m openly disrespected and my husband pretends everything’s fine!” “You’re exaggerating.” “Exaggerating?! Your son told me to my face that I’m nobody here. Word for word.” “He’s a teenager. They’re all like this.” Anna phoned her mum, who always had the right words. “Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice was worried, “you’re miserable. I hear it in every word.” “Mum, I don’t know what to do. Max won’t admit anything’s wrong.” “Because for him, nothing is. He’s content. The only one suffering is you.” Anna’s mother paused, her voice soft: “You deserve better, darling. Remember that.” Daniel, sensing total impunity, really let loose. Music blared into the early hours. Dirty plates appeared everywhere—on the coffee table, the bedroom windowsill, even in the bathroom. Socks lay strewn in the hallway, textbooks on the kitchen counter. Anna cleaned up, because she couldn’t stand mess. She cleaned and wept in frustration. At some point, Daniel stopped greeting her at all. Anna only existed for him as a target for sarcasm or rudeness. “You just don’t know how to connect with my child,” Max told her one day. “Maybe the problem’s you?” “Connect?” Anna gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve tried for half a year. He calls me ‘what’s-her-name’ in front of you.” “You’re being dramatic.” Her last attempt to break the ice took her all day. She found Daniel’s favourite meal online—honey-glazed chicken with village-style potatoes. She bought the finest ingredients. Spent four hours in the kitchen. “Daniel! Tea’s ready!” she called, laying the table. He came out, looked at the plate, and grimaced. “I’m not eating that.” “Why not?” “Because you made it.” He turned on his heel and left. A minute later, the front door slammed—off to his friends’. Max came home, saw the untouched dinner, the upset wife. “What happened?” Anna explained. Max sighed. “Don’t take it personally, Anna. He doesn’t mean it.” “Doesn’t mean it?! He humiliates me! Deliberately! Every day!” “You’re overreacting.” A week later, Daniel brought five mates home after school. Anna found the kitchen strewn with leftovers and dirty plates. “Out—all of you! It’s nearly eleven!” Anna barked, standing in the living room where the lads sprawled. Daniel didn’t even turn his head. “It’s my house. I’ll do what I like.” “It’s our house. There are rules here.” “What rules?” one of Daniel’s friends sniggered. “Dan, who’s she?” “No one. Forget her.” Anna retreated to the bedroom and rang Max. He arrived an hour later, just as the boys were leaving. He surveyed the chaos, then his exhausted wife. “Anna, don’t make a scene. The boys just popped round for a bit.” “A bit?!” “You’re overreacting. And honestly,” Max frowned, “it feels like you’re trying to turn me against my son.” Anna looked at her husband and barely recognised him. “We need to talk, Max. Seriously. About us. About our future.” Her husband tensed but sat opposite. “I can’t do this anymore,” Anna said, choosing her words with painful care. “I’ve endured half a year of disrespect. Daniel is rude, and you—well, you don’t care about how I feel at all.” “Anna, I—” “Let me finish. I tried. I honestly tried to be part of this family. But it’s not a family. It’s you, your son, and me—the outsider no one wants, except for cooking and cleaning.” “You’re being unfair.” “Unfair? When was the last time your son said one kind word to me? When was the last time you stood up for me?” Max was silent. “I love you,” he whispered at last, “but Daniel is my son. He’ll always come first.” “Before me?” “Before any relationship.” Anna nodded. Hollow. Cold inside. “Thank you for your honesty.” The final straw came two days later. Anna found her favourite blouse—a birthday present from her mum—shredded to rags on her pillow. No doubt who’d done it. “Daniel!” Anna stormed out, holding the scraps in her hand. “What is this?!” The teenager shrugged, eyes glued to his phone. “No idea.” “That’s my property!” “So?” “Max!” Anna called her husband. “Come home. Now.” Max turned up, saw the blouse, his son, his wife. “Dan, did you do this?” “No.” “See?” Max spread his hands. “He says it wasn’t him.” “Then who? The cat? We haven’t got one!” “Maybe you ripped it by accident…” “Max!” Anna stared at her husband. Pointless. He wouldn’t change. He’d never take her side. There was only one person that mattered to him—his son. She was just a convenient extra in someone else’s house. “Daniel misses his mother,” Max said for the hundredth time. “You have to understand.” “I do,” Anna said quietly. “I understand everything.” That night she took out her suitcase. “What are you doing?” Max froze in the bedroom doorway. “Packing. I’m leaving.” “Anna, wait! Let’s talk!” “We’ve been talking for half a year. Nothing’s changed.” She folded dresses into her bag. “I have a right to happiness too, Max.” “I’ll change! I’ll speak to Daniel!” “Too late.” She looked at her husband—a good man, maybe, but never truly a husband. Just a father. The kind of father who ruins his child with blind devotion. “I’ll file for divorce next week,” Anna said, zipping the suitcase. “Anna!” “Goodbye, Max.” She walked out and didn’t look back. In the hall, Daniel’s face flashed by—something like confusion, maybe fear, crossed his features for the first time. Anna didn’t care anymore. The rented flat was small but cosy—a one-bed in a quiet suburb, with windows overlooking a peaceful street. Anna unpacked, made herself a cup of tea, and sat in the window. For the first time in six months, she felt calm. The divorce came through two months later. Max rang a few times, asking for another chance. Anna was polite but firm: no. She didn’t break. Didn’t become bitter or vindictive. She just realised happiness doesn’t mean endless sacrifice or patience. Happiness is being respected and valued. And one day, she’d find it. Just not with this man.

Author Emily TaylorReading 11 minViews 1

You cant tell me what to do! Youre not my mum!

Ben banged his plate into the sink so hard that water spattered across the worktop. Emma stopped breathing for a second. The fifteen-year-old glared at her, as though shed destroyed his whole world.

I only asked if you could help with the dishes, Emma said, keeping her voice calm. Its a perfectly normal request.
My mum never made me do the washing up! Im not a girl! And who are you, anyway, to start giving orders?

Ben stormed out of the kitchen. Moments later, music blasted from his bedroom.

Emma slumped against the fridge and closed her eyes.

A year ago, everything had seemed so different.

Tom had come into her life quite by chance. An engineer in the company next door, Tom was someone she saw often during meetings. At first, it was coffee at lunchtime, then dinners after work, and long phone calls that lasted till midnight.

I have a son, Tom admitted on their third date, nervously fiddling with his napkin. Bens fifteen. His mum and I split up two years back, and heits been hard for him.
I understand, Emma put her hand on his. Children always struggle with divorce. Its only natural.
Are you really ready to accept both of us?

Emma believed she was. At thirty-two, having already ended one barren marriage, she longed for a real family. Tom seemed exactly the sort of man she could build something lasting with.

Six months later, Tom proposed awkwardly, slipping a ring into a box of her favourite doughnuts. Emma laughed and said yes without hesitation.

They had a small wedding: only parents, a couple of close friends, and a modest meal out. Ben sat through the whole evening glued to his phone, never once meeting their eyes.

Hell get used to it, Tom whispered, seeing Emmas confusion. Give him time.

Emma moved into Toms bright three-bedroom flat the day after the wedding. It was a lovely place spacious, with a big kitchen and a balcony overlooking the street. Still, from her first hours there, Emma felt like a guest in someone elses home.

Ben looked straight through her as if she were part of the furniture. Whenever she entered the room, he ostentatiously put on his headphones. When she asked him things, his answers were brief and directed at the floor.

For the first two weeks, Emma put it down to adjustment. The boy needed time. It was tough accepting his dad had remarried. It would pass.

It didnt.

Ben, please dont eat in your room. Well never get rid of the mice.
My dad let me.
Ben, have you done your homework?
None of your business.
Ben, can you tidy up after yourself, please?
Do it yourself. Youre the one with nothing better to do.

Emma tried bringing it up gently with Tom, choosing her words to avoid seeming like the wicked stepmother.

I think we should agree on some basic house rules, she said one evening after Ben had disappeared into his room. No eating in bedrooms, cleaning up after yourself, getting homework done by a certain time
Emma, hes having a rough time, Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. The divorce, a new person in the houselets not push.
I dont want to push. I just want some order.
Hes just a child.
Hes fifteen, Tom. At that age, you can at least learn to rinse a mug.

But Tom only sighed and turned up the telly, signalling the conversation was closed.

Things only got worse. When Emma asked Ben to help take out the bins, he looked at her with open contempt.

Youre not my mum. You never will be. Youve no right to boss me around.
Im not bossing you. Im asking for help around the house where we all live.
This isnt your house. Its my dads. And mine.

Emma went to Tom again. He nodded, promised to talk to Ben. But talk led to nothingor maybe it never even happened, Emma couldnt be sure.

Soon Ben started rolling in after midnight, without warning, not so much as a text. Emma lay awake listening for footsteps, while Tom snored beside her, untroubled.

Could you at least ask him to let us know where he is, or when hell be back? Emma said in the morning. Anything could happen.
Hes old enough, Emma. You cant control him.
Hes fifteen!
I stayed out late at his age too.
But could you please speak to him? Explain we worry?

Tom just shrugged and headed off to work.

Any attempt Emma made to set boundaries ended in shouting matches. Ben yelled, slammed doors, and accused Emma of tearing their family apart. Every single time, Tom took his sons side.

Hes struggling after the divorce, Tom repeated endlessly. You need to understand.
And you dont think I struggle? Emma finally snapped. I live in a house where Im openly despised, and you pretend its all fine!
Youre exaggerating.
Exaggerating? Your son told me Im nobody in this house. His words.

Hes a teenager. Theyre all moody.

Emma phoned her mum, who always knew the right thing to say.

Darling, her mums voice was gentle but firm. Youre miserableI can hear it in every word.
Mum, I just dont know what to do. Tom wont even admit theres a problem.
Thats because, for him, there isnt one. Hes happy with how things are. Youre the only one suffering.

Her mum was silent for a moment before saying quietly:

You deserve better, sweetheart. Think about that.

Ben, realising he could do as he liked, got even bolder. Music shook the flat till 3am. Dirty dishes turned up everywhereon the coffee table, the windowsill, even in the bathroom. His socks filled the hallway, his books cluttered the kitchen.

Emma cleaned because she couldnt stand the mess. She cleaned and cried in frustration.

Eventually Ben stopped talking to her altogether, except to throw an insult or a sneer her way.

You just dont know how to handle a child, Tom declared one evening. Maybe youre the issue here?
Handle? Emma gave a bitter little laugh. Ive been trying for six months. And right in front of you he calls me her.
Youre being dramatic.

Emmas last attempt at peace took all day. She found a recipe online for Bens favourite mealhoney-roast chicken with country-style potatoes. She bought the best ingredients and spent four hours cooking.

Ben, dinners ready! she called, laying the table.

The teenager came in, glanced at the food, and turned up his nose.

Im not eating that.
Why not?
Because you made it.

He spun round and left. A moment later, the front door slammedBen was off to his friends.

Tom came home, saw the cold supper and Emmas downcast face.

What happened?

Emma told him. Tom just sighed.

Dont take it to heart, love. He doesnt mean it badly.
Doesnt mean it?! Emma couldnt hold it in anymore. He goes out of his way to hurt meevery single day!
Youre just too sensitive.

A week later Ben invited five mates over from school. When Emma walked into the kitchen at eleven at night, the remains of food from the fridge were scattered everywhere.

Right, thats enough! Time to go home! Emma marched into the living room where Bens crew slouched about.
Ben didnt even look up.

This is my house. I do what I want.
Its our house, Ben. And we have rules here.
Rules? What rules? one of Bens friends sniggered. Ben, who even is she?
Oh, no one. Ignore her.

Emma fled to the bedroom and rang Tom. He arrived an hour later, only after the guests had all left. He took one look at the chaos and his exhausted wife.

Oh Emma, dont make a fuss. They were just here for a while.
A while?!
Honestly, youre blowing it out of proportion. And anyway, he frowned, I cant help thinking youre trying to make me pick sides.

Emma stared at her husband, unrecognisable to her now.

Tom, we need to talk seriously, she said the next afternoon. About us. About what happens next.

He stiffened, then sat down across from her.

I cant go on like this, Emma said slowly, trying to weigh each word. For half a year, Ive put up with nothing but disrespect. From Benrudeness, and from youtotal indifference to how I feel.
Emma, I
Let me finish. I really tried to be part of this family. But it isnt a family. Its you, your son, and methe unwanted outsider, only tolerated because I cook and clean.
Thats not fair.
Not fair? When did your son last say something kind to me? When did you last back me up?

Tom was silent.

I do love you, he said at last. But Bens my son. He comes first.
Before me?
Before anything else.

Emma nodded. She felt nothing but an icy emptiness.

Thank you for your honesty.

The final straw came two days later. Emma found her favourite blouseher mums birthday presentcut up into shreds and left lying on her pillow. There was no question about whod done it.

Ben! She hurled the torn fabric into his room. What is this?!

He shrugged without glancing up from his phone.

No idea.
That was mine!
So?
Tom! Emma called her husband. Come home. Now.

Tom arrived, surveyed the scene.

Ben, did you do this?
No.
See? Tom shrugged. He says he didnt.
Who then, Tom? The cat? We dont have a cat!
Maybe you did it by mistake
Tom!

Emma looked at her husband and realised, at last, there was nothing left to say. He was never going to change. Never going to take her side. As far as Tom was concerned, Ben was the only person that mattered. She was justuseful.

Ben finds it hard without his mum, Tom said for the hundredth time. You need to understand.
I do understand, Emma said, suddenly calm. I really do.

That evening she dug out her suitcase.

What are you doing? Tom stood in the bedroom doorway.
Im packing. Im leaving.
Emma, wait! Lets talk!
Weve talked for six months. Nothing changes, she replied, folding her dresses neatly. I have a right to happiness too, Tom.
I promise Ill talk to Ben!
Its too late.

She looked at her husbandthe decent, grown man who never figured out how to be a partner; only ever a father. And a father whod spoilt his son with blind devotion.

Ill file for divorce next week, Emma said, zipping up her suitcase.
Emma!
Goodbye, Tom.

She walked out of the flat without looking back. In the hall, Bens face flashed bythis time, for the first time, not just contempt in his eyes. Was it confusion? Maybe fear? But Emma no longer cared.

Her rented flat was small but cosya one-bed on a quiet street, looking out over a peaceful garden. Emma unpacked, made herself a cup of tea, and sat on the windowsill. For the first time in six months, she was at ease.

…The divorce went through two months later. Tom tried a few more times to ring, asking for another chance. Emma answered politely, but stayed firm: no.

She hadnt broken. She hadnt grown bitter. Shed realised, finally, that happiness isnt about endless patience and sacrifice. Happiness is where you are respected and valued. And someday, she was sure, she would find that.

Just not with this man.