“You’re Not My Real Mother, and That’s That”
“Mind your own business!” Emily shouted, waving her arms. “She’s my daughter, not yours!”
“I only wanted to help,” Charlotte replied softly, holding a frying pan by the stove. “Grace is ill—she has a high fever…”
“Help?” Emily sneered. “You just want to show off what a perfect stepmother you are, don’t you? So Dad will adore you even more?”
“Emily, stop,” David tried to intervene, but his daughter didn’t even glance his way.
“And you—shut up! You always defend her!” She jabbed a finger toward Charlotte. “You’re not my real mother, and that’s that! You traded your own daughter for… for her!”
Emily stormed out, slamming her bedroom door so hard the plates in the cupboard rattled.
Charlotte set the pan down on the table and sank into a chair. Her hands trembled, tears welling in her eyes.
“Don’t take it to heart,” David said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “She’s upset about not getting into university on a full scholarship. Taking it out on the world.”
“David, she’s right,” Charlotte whispered. “I’m not her real mother. I never will be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Time will sort this out.”
Charlotte gave a bitter smile. Time. They’d been married four years, and her relationship with Emily had only gotten worse. First, the girl had been cold and distant. Then came the snide remarks. Now, open war.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have offered to pay for her tuition?” Charlotte asked.
“Why not? You meant well.”
“She took it as me trying to buy her affection.”
David sighed and sat beside her.
“Charlotte, I know it’s hard. But Emily lost her mother at fourteen. She’s afraid someone will take her place.”
“I’m not trying to replace her mother. I just want peace.”
“I know. And she’ll understand that—sooner or later.”
Charlotte nodded, but deep down, she doubted it. Every day in this house was a battle. Emily seemed to look for reasons to fight—whether it was Charlotte’s cooking, where she left things, or how loudly she spoke on the phone.
Loud music blared from Emily’s room. The neighbors had complained more than once, but the girl ignored them.
“Ask her to turn it down,” Charlotte said.
“You ask her. You two need to learn to talk.”
“After what just happened?”
“Especially now. We can’t let this fester.”
Reluctantly, Charlotte knocked on Emily’s door.
“Emily, may I come in?”
The music grew louder. She knocked again.
“Emily, I need to talk to you.”
The door flew open. Emily stood there, eyes red from crying.
“What do you want?”
“Please lower the music. The neighbors are complaining.”
“I don’t care about the neighbors.”
“Emily, I know you’re upset—”
“You don’t know anything!” Emily exploded. “You think offering money means I’ll love you? Keep dreaming!”
“I don’t expect love. I just want us to stop fighting.”
“Then leave. This is our house—mine and Dad’s. You don’t belong here.”
The words stung. Charlotte forced herself to stay calm.
“Emily, your father loves me. And I love him. We’re family.”
“No!” Emily screamed. “Dad and I are family! You just live here! Did you think I didn’t know you married him for the house?”
Charlotte paled.
“Who told you that?”
“Grandma. Mum’s mum. She says you’re a gold-digger, that you chased Dad when you found out he was a widower with a big house.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is!” Emily stepped closer, eyes blazing. “You were forty, living in a tiny flat. Then—miracle! A man with a three-bedroom! Of course you married him!”
Each word was a slap. Charlotte’s cheeks burned.
“I love your father—”
“Oh, sure. You love his house and his salary. Him, you just tolerate.”
“Enough!” Charlotte snapped. “You have no right to say that!”
“I do! This is my home! And you’re nothing here!”
Emily slammed the door in her face. The music surged louder.
Charlotte stood shaking with anger and hurt. Emily’s words had struck deep. Yes, she’d met David at forty. Yes, she’d lived in a cramped flat and longed for a proper home. But she’d married for love, not money.
David found her in the bathroom, trying to compose herself.
“What happened? Emily was screaming.”
“She said I married you for the house.”
His face darkened.
“Who put that idea in her head?”
“Your former mother-in-law. Apparently, Margaret’s been feeding her this nonsense.”
“I see,” David clenched his fists. “Margaret never liked me. After I married you, she turned vile.”
“David… maybe I should leave?” Charlotte asked quietly. “Look how much Emily’s suffering. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “You’re my wife. If anyone has a problem with that, it’s their issue.”
“But Emily—”
“Emily needs to learn the world doesn’t revolve around her. People deserve happiness.”
Charlotte clung to him, safe in his arms. Yet alone with Emily, the war raged on.
The next morning, Emily skipped breakfast, slamming doors as she left for college. Charlotte sighed in relief—a few hours of quiet.
She cleaned, cooked lunch, then sat at her sewing machine, working on orders for extra income.
The doorbell rang. An older woman stood there, stern-faced.
“Margaret?” Charlotte blinked.
“Yes. May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Margaret marched into the living room without waiting, sitting stiffly.
“Would you like tea?” Charlotte offered.
“No. I’m not here to socialize.”
“Then why are you here?”
Margaret studied the room.
“You’ve landed nicely,” she said at last. “From a shoebox flat to a three-bedroom.”
Charlotte’s face burned.
“If you’ve come to insult me—”
“I’ve come to make a deal.”
“What deal?”
Margaret pulled an envelope from her bag.
“Fifty thousand pounds. Yours—if you divorce David and disappear.”
Charlotte stared.
“You’re mad.”
“Not at all. You’re tearing this family apart. Emily’s miserable, David’s changed—he used to be a devoted father. Now he only thinks of you.”
“David loves me—”
“He’s blinded. That’ll fade. But while you’re here, that girl suffers. Have you no pity?”
Charlotte looked at the envelope, sickened. So this was what they all thought of her.
“Keep your money,” she said.
“Think carefully. Fifty thousand could buy you a flat—a life of your own.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“Everyone has a price. Seventy thousand?”
“Leave.”
“A hundred thousand. My final offer.”
Charlotte stood and walked to the door.
“I said leave.”
Margaret rose slowly.
“You’re making a mistake. Emily will never accept you. She’ll fight you to the end.”
“We’ll see.”
Margaret left, but the envelope remained. Charlotte stared at it, then tossed it in the bin.
That evening, she told David everything.
“She offered you money?” he said, stunned.
“A hundred thousand for a divorce.”
His face darkened with fury.
“How dare she! I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
“Don’t. It’ll only make things worse.”
“Charlotte, I won’t let her humiliate you.”
“What can you do? Forbid her from seeing Emily?”
They both knew that would only deepen the rift.
Emily didn’t return that night. David called, but her phone was off.
“Where is she?” Charlotte worried.
“Probably at Margaret’s.”
But Emily didn’t return the next day either. David drove to Margaret’s.
“Is she here?” he asked.
“Yes. And she’ll stay here until that woman is gone from your house.”
“Margaret, stop this. Emily belongs at home.”
“Home?” Margaret scoffed. “Where her stepmother rules? Where her own father’s a stranger?”
“I haven’t changed—”
“You have! Emily used to be everything to you. Now you side with your wife over your child.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then choose—your daughter or your wife.”
David returned grim-faced. Charlotte listened, heart heavy. Because of her, he was losing Emily.
Days passed. Emily stayed away. David called daily, but she ignored him.
“Should we visit her?” Charlotte asked.
“No. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”
But Charlotte saw his pain. He missed his daughter.
One morning, the doorbell rang. Emily stood there with a suitcase**”I’ve come home,” Emily said quietly, and as Charlotte stepped aside to let her in, she realized that sometimes, the hardest battles ended not with victory or defeat, but with a quiet understanding.**
