When I married Jonathan, I knew he had a daughter from his first marriage. Emily, his ex-wife, had walked out on the child six years earliershe packed her bags and moved to Belgium with a new lover, starting her life afresh. Since then, shes had two more children, calls her eldest twice a month on video, and only sends gifts at Christmas. I watched that little girl pine for her mother, staring at her phone screen, hoping shed say, Come live with me. But the invitation never came. She never visited. She just erased her from her life.
At first, the girl lived with my mother-in-law, Jonathans mum. But she quickly burned out, overwhelmed by homework, tantrums, and meltdowns. She handed her granddaughter back to her father without a second thought. Jonathan brought her home, looked me straight in the eye, and murmured, Sophies going to live with us. Permanently.
I genuinely tried to be a good stepmother. I bought her clothes, cooked her favourite meals, took her to school, had heart-to-hearts. I wanted to be her friend. But she shut me out. As if a wall had gone up between us, with no effort to bridge the gap. She didnt ignore meshe made it clear that, in her world, I meant nothing.
Three years passed. Now, that girl is twelve. And she still lives with us, barking orders as if this were her flat and not ours. Every evening, she complains to her father: Auntie Lucy made me tidy up, Auntie Lucy didnt buy what I wanted. Then my mother-in-law rings to scold me for not looking after the child properly and that since Im due soon, its about time I learned how to be a mother. Yet she refuses to watch her granddaughter for even an hour when I have a doctors appointment or work emergency.
Im exhausted. I work, keep the house running, cook, and now Im pregnant. Jonathan, though he doesnt take her side, still asks me to be softer, more patient. But Ive had enough. That girl has become nothing but a nuisance. Shes messy, rude, never says thank you, doesnt listen, and is never satisfied. She isnt mine, and I dont even pretend anymore.
Sometimes, late at night, sitting in the kitchen, I think, If only Id refused to let her move in If Id stood my ground But its too late. I cant leave Jonathanwere having a baby together. And, selfish as it sounds, I catch myself wishing more and more that his daughter would choose to go back to her grandmother. That shed say, Im better off with Nana. I wouldnt beg her to stay. I wouldnt even cry.
I just want peace. No constant criticism, no fighting for my place in this house. I want my child to grow up in love and harmony, not tension and arguments. Maybe this is the only way to save my family without losing myself.
