“Call Me Dad.”
“Mum, are you taking his side *again*?” Emily stood inches from her mother, her lips trembling as tears welled up.
“Emily, what do you mean *again*? And honestly, youre wrong! Youre completely wrong, love!” retorted Irene, her mum.
“Mum, those were *my* groceries! We had an agreement, and Im not made of moneyI cant just feed some random bloke!” Emily protested, now barely holding back the sobs.
“Ungrateful little madam! I raised you, fed you, and now youre begrudging me a bit of cheese and ham?!” slurred Nicholas, her stepdad, from the other roomhis usual halfway-to-drunk state.
“Exactly! Have you no shame?” Irene chimed in.
Emily buried her face in her hands. The tears won. Lately, her life had turned into a proper nightmare
…Emilys dad had left when she was barely three. As Irene later explained, she and Williamthe mans namehad never really loved each other. A whirlwind romance, an unplanned pregnancy, and pressure from Williams parents led to a rushed marriage. Predictably, the lack of love doomed it. They limped along for two years before William packed his bags and vanished.
Irene threw herself into raising Emily. Just the two of themuntil Emily turned twelve. One morning, Irene sat her down for *the talk*.
“Em, youre old enough to understand” Irene hedged.
“Yeah?” Emily replied, wary.
“Ive met someone. Were getting married. Hell be moving in soon.”
Emily wasnt thrilled, but she shrugged. Plenty of kids at school had stepdadsno one had *died* from it.
Then Nicholas walked in. Instant dislike. His face, his mannereverything about him grated.
“Call me Dad,” he announced.
Emily nodded but never did. From day one, Nicholas declared, “I wasnt spoiled as a kid, so I wont spoil you.” And just like that, her life became unbearable.
“Mum, Im going to the library with Lucy, then well hang out,” Emily said once.
“Oho, little Miss Bossy! Irene, why dyou let her walk all over you? Shell be riding you like a pony next!” Nicholas snapped.
“I am *not* a pony!” Emily shot back while Irene silently scrubbed dishes.
“Dont you smart-mouth me! One hour at the library, home by threeor youre standing in the corner on dried peas. See how you like *that*!” Nicholas roared, drunk on his own “parenting.”
“Mum, I *am* going out!” Emily insisted.
“Sweetheart, listen to your father. He *is* the head of the house,” Irene mumbled.
From then on, Emily lived for Nicholass business tripsbrief windows of freedom where she could breathe, have friends over, and pretend life was normal.
…Six miserable years passed. Emily turned eighteen, got into uni. Finally*freedom*! Student halls, her own space, escape from the chaos at home.
Then reality hit:
“Halls are for out-of-town students. No rooms left,” the uni office said.
“Shouldve picked a different city,” Emily muttered, trudging home.
By mid-September, shed befriended two classmatesJess and Miawho also wanted out of their parents places. They found a tiny flat to split three ways.
“Mum, I want to move out. Its closer to uni, and”
“Over my dead body! Next thing, youll be turning the place into awell, I wont say! Probably just an excuse to sneak boys in while your studies go down the drain!” Nicholas cut in.
“Whats it to *you*?” Emily snapped.
“Excuse me?! Is that how you speak to your father? Your student loan wont cover rent! Your mums on part-time, *my* wages got slashed, and *you* want a flat? Not a penny from me!”
“Ill earn it myself!” Emily yelled, slamming her bedroom door.
But evening jobs were scarce. The flatand freedomgot shelved.
Then, one morning, a stranger stood in the hallway. Nicholas hugged him like long-lost family.
“Emily, meet my son from my first marriageDanny. Lived with his mum in the countryside. Moving in with us,” Nicholas announced.
“*Where*? Weve only got two rooms!”
“Dont worry, Ill crash on the sofa bed in the lounge for now,” Danny said, smirking.
Horrified, Emily cornered Irene:
“Mum, hows four people supposed to live in this shoebox?”
“Well manage. Alls cosy when hearts are warm,” Irene parroted.
“Are you *serious*?”
“Emily, Nicholas pays the bills. I wont rock the boat. Danny stays.”
Now Danny “cosied up” on the kitchen sofa. No room for breakfast. Emily left hungry every morning. Returning, shed find Nicholas and Danny camped at the table.
“Oi, sis! Join the party!” Danny crowed once, grabbing her shoulders.
“Get *off*!” Emily wrenched free.
“How *dare* you speak to your elders!” Nicholas bellowed, breath reeking of whisky.
Emily spent the night crying. Next morning, she tried reason:
“Mum, didnt *Dad* buy this flat?”
“Well yes?” Irene frowned.
“So its partly *mine*?”
“Legally, its mine, but youre my daughter, so Why?”
“I want *them* out!”
“Ungrateful brat! Not another quid from me! Buy your own food!” Nicholas shrieked.
Emily did. Scrimped every pound. Yet Nicholas and Danny kept raiding her fridgeespecially the cheese and ham shed just bought.
“Mum, if Im wrong, pay me back for what they stole, and Ill *leave*!”
“Piss off, then!” Nicholas spat.
Done. Emily packed a bag and walked out.
Crashing at her mate Sophies for a while, she switched to part-time uni, got a job, and rented a flathalf with Sophie. Not perfect, but *clean*. No shouting, no theft, *no them*.
A year later, she bumped into Irene outside a block of council flats.
“Mum? Whatre you doing here?”
“Living here,” Irene murmured after a pause.
“What? What about the flat?”
“Oh, love Nicholas talked me into signing it over to himto stop you making claims, he said. Then Danny started bringing girls into *your* room. One day, I came home to some tart in *my* bed.”
“And you just?”
“What could I do? The flats *his* now. Council put me here. Wanted to tell you, but well, here we are.” Irene wept.
Emily sighed. “Right.”
She half-listened as Irene waffled about divorce and reclaiming half the flat. But Emily was *done*.
Home now was a rented two-bed. Small, sharedbut *peaceful*. And that was enough.
