When I married Julien, I already knew he had a daughter from a previous marriage. Her mother, Élodie, had abandoned her six years earlierpacking her belongings and fleeing to Belgium with a new lover, starting a fresh life. Since then she has had two more children, calls her eldest only twice a month via video, and sends gifts only on holidays. I watched the little girl long for her mother, staring at her phone screen, hoping to hear, Come live with me. But she was never invited, never visited. She simply erased her from her life.
At first the child lived with Juliens mother, my motherinlaw. However, the older woman soon became overwhelmed by the chores, the tantrums, the crises. She gave the granddaughter back to her father. Julien brought her home, looked me straight in the eyes and whispered, Amélie will stay with us. For good.
I truly tried to be a good stepmother. I bought her clothes, cooked her favorite meals, took her to school, spoke to her hearttoheart. I wanted to become a friend. Instead she shut herself off, as if an invisible wall had risen between us, with no attempt at closeness. She didnt ignore me; she made it clear that, in her world, I meant nothing.
Three years have passed. The girl is now twelve and still lives with us, ordering things as if the house were hers, not ours. Every evening she complains to her father: Aunt Claire forced me to clean, Aunt Claire didnt buy what I wanted. Then my motherinlaw calls me, accusing me of not taking enough care of the child, adding that Im about to have a baby too, so its time I learn to be a mother. Yet she herself refuses to look after her granddaughter even for an hour when I have an urgent doctors appointment or work duty.
I am exhausted. I work, tend the home, cook, and now Im pregnant. Julien, while not taking his daughters side, still asks me to be softer, more forgiving. I cant take it any longer. The girl has become a constant source of irritationmessy, insolent, never saying thank you, never listening, never satisfied. She isnt mine, and I no longer deny it.
Sometimes, late at night in the kitchen, I think, If only I had refused for her to move in if only I had insisted But its too late. I cant leave Julienwere expecting a child together. And, selfish as it sounds, I increasingly wish his daughter would choose to go back to her grandmother, saying, Im better off with Grandma. I wont beg her to stay. I wont even cry.
All I want is peace. No endless accusations, no fighting for my place in this house. I want my child to grow up surrounded by love and harmony, not constant tension and disputes. Perhaps that is the only chance I have to save this family without losing myself.
