**Diary Entry – 12th October**
“You’re nobody to me, and I don’t have to listen to you!” My stepdaughter’s words cut deeper every time she throws them at me.
Five years ago, I married William, and life in our little town near Manchester hasn’t been the same since. His daughter from his first marriage, 14-year-old Emily, visits often, and he supports her financially. I’ve never interfered—in fact, I get on well with his ex, Charlotte. We chat like old friends, and she’s always considerate, calling ahead if Emily needs to stay over. But Emily, with her teenage defiance, has become my greatest trial. Those words—*you’re nobody*—pierce like a blade every time.
Charlotte is sensible. When they divorced, William left her the house they’d bought together, signing his share over to Emily. Now, he and I live in my modest flat with our two-year-old, Oliver. William provides while I care for the baby, but Emily’s visits stir chaos I can no longer ignore.
Lately, trouble’s brewed at Charlotte’s. She remarried, and her new husband, James, moved in. At first, Emily seemed pleased, but soon enough, rebellion took hold. When James asked her to tidy up, she’d snap, “You’re not my dad—don’t tell me what to do!” Though he tried—gifts, patience—she shut him out. Dishes piled up, rubbish went nowhere, and every request was met with a scowl. In one row, she spat, “This is Mum’s house—you don’t belong here!” William was livid—they rent out his flat, and that income keeps them afloat. Charlotte scolded Emily, who then phoned William in tears, begging to stay with us.
I didn’t refuse. Oliver sleeps in our room, and the sofa in the lounge folds out for guests. I rang Charlotte first, and she agreed but warned, “If she misbehaves, call me straightaway.” Emily arrived sullen but soon made herself at home—ignoring me, leaving messes, chatting for hours with friends. My patience frayed, but I bit my tongue for William’s sake.
Finally, I asked him to talk to her. “She doesn’t respect me,” I said. He tried, but Emily brushed him off. When I asked her to clear the table, she hissed, “You’re nobody to me—I don’t have to listen!” My chest tightened. Fighting tears, I replied, “I’m your father’s wife, and this is my home. You’re here because I allow it. Don’t speak to me like that.” She stormed out, slamming the door. Nothing changed—she acted as if I were air.
William and I agreed, and I called Charlotte. “I’d hoped she’d listen to him,” she sighed. “Bring her back. You’ve enough with the baby.” William told Emily they were leaving. She packed in silence, then rang her gran, wailing about being “kicked out everywhere.” But Margaret, his mother, wouldn’t take her—she’s busy with her own life now. Charlotte later shared Emily’s punishment: chores on a strict schedule.
Charlotte understands me, and we stand together. But Margaret fans the flames. “Poor Emily!” she moaned. “Her dad’s got a new wife, her mum’s remarried—nobody cares!” I retorted, “Least of all Gran, too wrapped up in herself.” She hung up, but I don’t care. William and Charlotte back me. Even Emily phoned yesterday, apologising, promising to change. Yet the sting lingers. I’ve tried to be a mother to her, loved her as my own, and still, she pushes me away. My heart aches for peace, but how? If she hurls “*you’re nobody*” again, I might not hold back.
**Lesson learned**: Love isn’t enough without respect. Sometimes, the hardest battles are under your own roof.
