“Don’t interfere, you’re not family,” the daughter snapped, turning away.
“Emma, have you picked a dress for the leavers’ ball yet?” Irene asked, spreading bridal catalogues across the table. “Perhaps we could go shopping together?”
The fifteen-year-old stepdaughter looked up from her phone, her gaze icy.
“Why do you care? I have a mother wholl take me.”
“Of course, I just thought” Irene felt the familiar sting of rejection. “Maybe all three of us could go? It might be nice.”
“No. Mum can manage on her own.”
Irene sighed and set the catalogues aside. Outside, rain drizzled against the windowpanes, matching her bleak mood. She checked the clocksoon, Michael would return from work, and the endless tightrope walk between husband and daughter would begin again.
“Emma, what would you like for supper? I could make your favouritebeef Wellington?”
“I dont care. Im going to Mums. She made cottage pie.”
The girl stood, grabbing her coat from the rack.
“Emma, wait,” Irene stepped toward her. “Can we talk properly? Why do you hate me so? What have I ever done to you?”
Emma paused at the door and slowly turned. Her eyes burned with a fury too old for her years.
“Do you really not understand? Or are you pretending?”
“I dont. Truly.”
“You tore our family apart!” the girl blurted. “Dad left Mum because of you! And now you act all sweet and caring!”
Irenes breath caught. She sank onto a chair, her legs unsteady.
“Emma, that isnt true. When I met your father, he was already living apart from your mother. They divorced long before”
“Liar!” Emma shouted. “Mum told me everything! How you stole him, how you schemed!”
“What schemes? Emma, I just worked with your fatherwe were only colleagues”
“Dont interfere, youre not family!” The girl turned back to the door.
The words struck harder than a slap. *Not family.* After three years of marriage, after every attempt to bridge the gap, she remained an outsider.
The door slammed. Irene was alone in the silent flat. Tears spilled freely now, unchecked.
When Michael returned, he took one look at her reddened eyes.
“Whats happened?” He sat beside her on the sofa, an arm around her shoulders.
“Emma again.” Irene wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “Michael, she truly despises me.”
“What did she say this time?”
“That I ruined your family. That I stole you from her mother. Called me an outsider.”
Michael exhaled heavily, rubbing his brow.
“Irene, love, weve been over this. Shes just a childshe doesnt understand”
“A child? Michael, shes fifteen! At her age, I was working after school to help my mother. Your daughter behaves like a spoiled princess!”
“Dont speak of her like that,” his voice hardened. “The divorce wounded herit wounds any child.”
“The divorce was four years ago! *Four*, Michael! When does it end?”
“Just be patient a little longer. Shell adjust. Shell see youre not the enemy.”
Irene stood, pacing the room.
“Patient, patienthow much longer must I be patient? Im human too! I have feelings! Ive tried so hard to love her, and she”
“And she what?”
“She loathes me! And you refuse to see it!”
Michael rose, closing the distance between them.
“I know its difficult. But Emma is my daughter. I cant abandon her.”
“But you can abandon me?” Irene asked softly.
“What? Youre an adultyou understand”
“Do I? So I must endure her scorn because Im grown?”
“Irene, dont twist this. Emma isnt cruelshes just”
“Not cruel?” A bitter laugh escaped her. “Michael, did you hear her? *Dont interfere, youre not family.* Is that not cruelty?”
“She was upset”
“And Im not? Does it not hurt me?”
They stood locked in silence, and Irene realised thenhe would never choose her. His daughter would always come first.
“Right then.” She strode to the bedroom, pulling a suitcase from the wardrobe. “While you sort your priorities, Ill stay with my sister.”
“Irene, dont be absurd! Where are you going?”
“To Sarahs. I need to think.”
“Over one quarrel, youd throw away our marriage?”
Irene paused in the doorway.
“Michael, this isnt one quarrel. Its *every day*. Every day I feel unwelcome in my own *home*. And you do *nothing* to change it.”
“What would you have me do? Punish her for loving her mother?”
“You should make it clear Im your *wife*. That you *chose* me. And she must respect that.”
“Irene”
“No, Michael. Im tired of being blamed. Tired of apologising for loving you. Tired of begging forgiveness for marrying you.”
She packed a few essentials and moved toward the door. Michael followed.
“Stay. Well talkfind a way”
“Talk?” She turned. “Weve talked for *three years*. Whats changed? Emmas hatred hasnt. And your defence of her hasnt.”
“Im not defendingIm trying to understand”
“Understand *what*? That your daughter may insult your wife? That she may behave as she pleases while I stay silent?”
Irene threw on her coat, keys in hand.
“I cant live like this anymore. I wont beg for a place in this house.”
“What of our plans? The child we wanted?”
Her hand froze on the doorknob.
“What child, Michael? In a home where your daughter *hates* me? Where Im an *outsider*? Can you imagine how shed treat our baby?”
“Shed come round”
“To what? That Ill always be here? She *doesnt* want that! She *dreams* of you returning to her mother!”
Michael hung his head.
“I dont know what to do. I love you both.”
“You cant love a daughter and a wife the same. Its a different love. And if you cant see that, weve no future.”
She opened the door, but Michael caught her wrist.
“Wait. Lets speak to Emma together. Explain”
“Explain *what*? That she must love me? Love isnt *explained*, Michael. Its *earned*. And how can I earn it from someone who blames me for every sorrow?”
“Please”
“I need time. To decide if I can bear this any longer.”
She stepped into the rain, leaving him in the doorway. The bus ride to Sarahs was quiet, the grey streets blurring past the window.
Three years ago, Michael had seemed perfectkind, devoted, a loving father. Shed welcomed his daughter as her own.
But Emmas hostility had been immediate. Coldness became malice. And Michaelhe never saw. Or never *wished* to see.
At Sarahs flat, her sister frowned at her damp clothes.
“Irene? Whats wrong?”
“May I stay? Perhaps longer.”
“Of course. Was it Michael?”
Irene sank onto the sofa.
“Worse. I think our marriage was a mistake.”
“Dont be daft. You love each other.”
“Love isnt enough when theres a third wheel.”
“Emma again?”
“Always. Today she called me an outsider. And the worst part? Shes right.”
Sarah sat beside her, an arm around her shoulders.
“Have you spoken to her mother? Perhaps she could help.”
“You jest? Her *mother* fuels this! Tells her Im a homewrecker.”
“But how *did* it happen?”
Irene moved to the window.
“Michael was honest. Said theyd been separated months, the divorce final. I believed him. But his ex-wife hoped for reconciliation.”
“Yet he didnt return?”
“No. Married *me*. But Emmas convinced Im the reason theyre apart.”
“Might they have reconciled?”
Irene whirled.
“You think this is *my* fault?”
“No! But a child sees divorce as catastrophe. Especially with a stepmother.”
“I *tried*! Gifts, her favourite meals, helping with schoolworkall met with scorn!”
“Perhaps she needed more time?”
“How much? Another three years? Ten? Sarah, I want a family. But how can I raise a child where Im *hated*?”
Sarah sighed.
“What does Michael say?”
“Be patient. Claims shell adjust. But she only grows *worse*.”
“Have you spoken to her alone?”
“Ive tried. She wont even *listen*.”
Then Michael called. Sarah urged her to ignore it, but Irene answered.
“Where are you? Im worried.”
“At Sarahs. I need time.”
“How much?”
“I dont know. A day, a week. I must decide if I can bear this.”
“What do I tell Emma?”
“The truth. That your wife wont tolerate disrespect.”
“Irene”
“Dont argue. I need space.”
“I love you.”
“I know. And I love you. But love isnt enough without peace.”
She hung up. Sarah studied her.
“You *did* want to be her mother, didnt you?”
“Yes. Not to replace her motherjust to *be there*. But she never let me.”
“Perhaps shes afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That loving you would betray her mother. Children think that way.”
Irene considered it. Was Emmas venom just fear?
“But how do I reach her if she wont even *speak* to me?”
“I dont know. Its a hard road.”
They talked late into the night. Sarah spoke of friends in blended familiesstruggles that, with time, had eased.
“My friend Claire married a man with two sons. The first years were hell. But after she had her own child, the boys accepted her.”
“And if that doesnt work?”
“Then you choose. Endureor leave.”
Irene slept fitfully on Sarahs sofa, her mind racing. She remembered meeting Michael, falling in love, dreaming of happiness.
Now her marriage crumbled under the weight of a childs unforgiving heart.
At dawn, her phone rang. An unfamiliar voice.
“Irene? Its Helen, Emmas mother. We should talk.”
