“You’re nobody to me, and I don’t have to listen to you!” my stepdaughter snapped at me again.
Five years ago, I, Caroline, married James, and ever since, my life in a small town near Manchester has been a constant battle for peace at home. James has a daughter from his first marriage—14-year-old Emily—whom he sees often and supports financially. I never objected to their relationship—on the contrary, his ex-wife, Elizabeth, and I got along well, almost like friends. But Emily, with her teenage rebellion, became a real test for me, and her words “you’re nobody to me” cut deep every time I hear them.
Elizabeth is a reasonable woman. If she needs Emily to stay with us, she always calls ahead, asks if it suits us. Sometimes we just chat on the phone like old mates. She holds no grudge against James—after the divorce, he left her the house they’d bought together and signed his share over to Emily. James, our two-year-old son, Oliver, and I live in my two-bedroom flat. James provides for us while I’m on maternity leave, focusing on our little boy. But whenever Emily comes to stay, chaos follows, and I’ve had enough.
Lately, Emily’s rebellious streak has worsened. Elizabeth remarried, and her new husband, Richard, moved in with them. At first, Emily seemed pleased, but soon she started lashing out. When Richard asked her to tidy up after herself, she’d snap, “You’re not my dad, don’t tell me what to do!” Though Richard tried to bond—buying her gifts, staying patient—Emily shut him out. She became impossible: leaving dishes piled up, ignoring chores, answering every request with attitude. In one argument, she shouted at Richard, “This is Mum’s house—you don’t belong here!” When James found out, he was furious—they rent out his old flat, and that money helps support Elizabeth’s family. Elizabeth scolded Emily, and the girl, in tears, begged her dad to take her in.
I didn’t refuse. Oliver sleeps in our room, and we have a pull-out sofa in the lounge for guests. I called Elizabeth to make sure she was alright with it. She agreed but warned, “If she misbehaves, ring me straight away.” Emily arrived sullen but quickly settled into her old habits—ignoring me, sulking at the slightest remark. She left dishes unwashed, her bed unmade, clothes strewn everywhere, while spending most of her time gossiping on the phone. I felt my temper rising but bit my tongue for James’ sake.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and asked my husband to talk to her. “She doesn’t take me seriously,” I said. James tried, but Emily just brushed him off. When I asked her again to clear the table, she spat, “You’re nobody to me, I don’t have to listen to you!” My chest tightened with hurt. Fighting back tears, I said, “I’m your father’s wife, and this is my home. You’re only here because I allow it. Don’t you dare speak to me like that!” Emily stormed out, slamming the door. Nothing changed—she still acted like I didn’t exist.
I discussed it with James and rang Elizabeth. “I thought she might at least listen to her dad,” Elizabeth sighed. “Bring her back. You’ve got enough on your plate with the baby.” James told Emily he was taking her home. She packed in silence, then rang her grandmother, moaning about being “kicked out everywhere.” But his mum, Margaret, didn’t side with her. As Elizabeth later told me, Emily had hoped her gran would take her in, but Margaret had recently found love again and wasn’t up for looking after a moody teen. Now Emily’s grounded—stuck doing chores on a strict schedule.
Elizabeth understands me, and we’re on the same page. But Margaret just stirs the pot. “Poor Emily! Everyone’s abandoned her! Her dad’s got a new wife, her mum’s got a husband—no one cares about that poor girl!” she wailed. I couldn’t help myself: “Oh, especially you, Gran, with your love life more important than your granddaughter.” Margaret hung up, but I didn’t care. What matters is that James and Elizabeth back me. Emily even called yesterday, apologised, promised to do better. But the sting of her words lingers. I tried to be a mother to her, treated her like my own, and she keeps pushing me away. My heart aches—I want peace at home, but I don’t know how to get through to her. If she throws “you’re nobody to me” in my face again, I’m not sure I’ll hold back.
