“You’re nobody to me, and I don’t have to listen to you!” my stepdaughter spat at me again.
Five years ago, I, Emily, married Richard, and ever since, my life in a quiet town near Manchester has become a relentless struggle for family harmony. Richard has a daughter from his first marriage—14-year-old Charlotte—whom he sees often and supports financially. I never objected to their relationship—quite the opposite, his ex-wife, Margaret, and I even developed a warm, almost friendly bond. But Charlotte, with all her teenage rebellion? She’s been nothing but a trial. And those words, *”You’re nobody to me,”* cut like a knife every single time.
Margaret is a reasonable woman. If she needs Charlotte to stay with us, she always calls ahead, checks if it suits us. Sometimes we just chat on the phone like old friends. She doesn’t hold a grudge against Richard—after the divorce, he left her the house they’d bought together and transferred his share to Charlotte. Richard and I, along with our two-year-old son, Oliver, live in my two-bedroom flat. He works to support us while I’m on maternity leave, dedicating myself to our little boy. But ever since Charlotte started staying over, our home has spiraled into chaos I can no longer tolerate.
Recently, Charlotte’s rebellion flared up. Margaret remarried, and her new husband, James, moved in. At first, Charlotte seemed happy—until she wasn’t. When James asked her to clean up after herself, she snapped, *”You’re not my dad—don’t tell me what to do!”* Though James tried—gifts, patience, effort—Charlotte rejected him. She became impossible: leaving dishes out, ignoring chores, snarling at every request. In one blazing row, she yelled at James, *”This is Mum’s house—you don’t get a say!”* Richard was furious when he found out—because the money from renting out his old flat is what keeps their household afloat. Margaret scolded Charlotte, and in tears, she called her father, begging him to take her in.
I didn’t refuse. Oliver sleeps in our room, and the living room has a pull-out sofa for nights like this. I rang Margaret to ask how she felt about it. She agreed but warned, *”If she won’t listen, call me straight away.”* Charlotte arrived sullen but quickly settled—into total disregard. She ignored my requests, sulked at the slightest correction. Dishes piled up, her bed stayed unmade, clothes strewn everywhere while she spent hours giggling over the phone with her mates. I could feel the fury bubbling inside me, but I bit my tongue—for Richard.
In the end, I cracked and asked my husband to speak to her. *”She doesn’t take me seriously,”* I admitted. Richard tried—but Charlotte just brushed him off. When I asked her again to clear the table, she hissed, *”You’re nobody to me! I don’t have to listen to you!”* My chest tightened with hurt. I barely held back tears as I replied, *”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!”* She stormed out, slamming the door. Nothing changed—she still acted like I was nothing.
I talked to Richard, then called Margaret. *”I hoped she’d at least listen to her father,”* Margaret sighed. *”Bring her back. You’ve got enough on your plate with the baby.”* Richard told Charlotte they were taking her home. She packed in silence, then frantically rang her grandmother, wailing about being *”kicked out everywhere.”* But Richard’s mother, Pamela, didn’t side with her. As Margaret later shared, Charlotte had hoped Pamela would take her in—but Pamela had just started seeing someone new and wasn’t about to play babysitter. Now, Charlotte’s grounded: chores, strict rules, no nonsense.
Margaret understands. We’re on the same page. But my mother-in-law? She’s stirring the pot. *”Poor Charlotte! Abandoned by everyone! Her father’s got a new wife, her mother’s got a new husband—nobody cares for that poor girl!”* she wailed. I lost it. *”Oh yes, especially the grandmother who can’t be bothered to help because she’s too busy with her own life.”* Pamela hung up. I don’t care. What matters is that Richard and Margaret back me. Charlotte even called yesterday—apologised, promised to do better.
But the sting of her words lingers. I tried to be a mother to her, welcomed her as my own—only to be shoved away, again and again. My heart aches. I want peace in this family, but I don’t know how to reach her. And if she throws *”You’re nobody to me”* in my face again? I’m not sure I can hold back.
