If not for her
Why did you bring her here?
Emma flinched at the sound of that voice. It wasnt the words themselves it was the sheer force behind them, sharp and furious, thickening the air in the hallway until it was almost hard to breathe. Standing before her, fifteen-year-old Abigail looked at Emma as if she were something vile, dragged in from the street on the sole of someones shoe.
Abigail, what do you mean brought her?, David said gently, laying a hand on his wifes shoulder. The touch made it slightly easier to draw breath. Emma and I are married now. Shell be living with us.
Living with us? Abigails voice cracked into a shriek. Shes going to sleep on Mums bed? Walk around Mums house? Touch Mums things?
Sweetheart, your mums been gone five years
Dont call me that! Abigail jerked away. And dont you dare talk about Mum! You brought some strange woman into our home and Im supposed to call her mum? Shes nothing to me! Nothing, do you hear?
Emma tried to speak, to explain she wasnt here to replace anyone, to say she only wanted to be part of their family. But the words stuck somewhere between her throat and lips, and she couldnt get a single sound out.
I hate her! Hate her, you two lovebirds! Abigail spat, syllable by syllable, staring at Emma, then storming off. The thud of the slammed door echoed through the house
David hugged Emma tight, murmuring soothing things into her hair about time, patience, about Abigail getting used to things if they just waited. Emma nodded, pressing her nose into his jumper, but inside something dark and heavy was spreading a dread that urged her to grab her suitcase and flee to her own small, lonely but safe flat.
But she stayed. Of course she stayed. Where else could she go from this man she loved so helplessly, so hopelessly, the way only those who never thought they’d find their person truly loved
The days slowed and stretched out, strange and sticky in their silence. Abigail looked right through Emma as if she were an ugly, useless piece of furniture cluttering up the room. She ate the breakfasts Emma cooked without a word of thanks, sat down for dinner only to shove her plate aside if Emma tried speaking. Shed blast the TV at top volume whenever her stepmother entered the living room.
Emma tried everything. She baked cinnamon pancakes, remembering David mention how much Abigail adored them. But the pancakes cooled untouched, despite smelling so heavenly Emmas own mouth watered. She bought tickets to a concert for one of Abigails favourite bands a detail shed overheard crowning a teenage phone call. The tickets appeared back on Emmas bedside table, torn in half.
David tried to bring them together family dinners, game nights, movies, popcorn. Abigail sat stiff-faced, answered her father in monosyllables, never once glancing at Emma.
Perhaps we could go to the pictures Saturday? David suggested one evening, hope shining desperately in his voice, and Emmas heart squeezed hard. All three of us. Like a family.
Im not going, Abigail snapped, not looking up from her phone.
Abigail, what would it hurt to?
I said no. Im not going. I wont. She finally met Emmas eyes and the disdain in them was almost physical, forcing Emma to step back. Not with her. Do you understand?
David wilted. Emma saw it his shoulders sagging, the fire in his eyes fading, and she wanted to hold him, shield him from his own daughter and blushed instantly at the selfishness of the thought.
They went to the cinema, just Emma and David. They sat side by side in the nearly empty theatre, nibbling popcorn that stuck in their throats, watching some comedy that somehow made Emma want to cry. On the drive home, David was silent, gripping the steering wheel as if he blamed it for everything
I just dont know what to do anymore, he breathed, parking up outside home.
Emma covered his hand with hers, their fingers weaving together. Words wouldnt come. That heavy, cold dread was now a constant visitor clearer every day.
One evening, Emma arrived home early and quietly slipped the key into the lock. She paused in the narrow hallway, pulling off her boots, when Abigails voice floated out from her bedroom, muffled by the half-closed door. Something about it set Emma on edge.
Im not sure I dont know if I want this snatches of her words drifted through the gap.
Emma froze, boot in hand, hardly daring to move. Fifteen the age for mistakes, for rebellion, for decisions you regret forever. What was happening in there? Who was Abigail talking to, what about?
The voice faded, and Emma retreated to the bedroom, pressing her back to the closed door. Her heart thundered; her head ached with questions that had no answers. That night, she tried to tiptoe around the topic with David maybe he should gently check in, see whom Abigail was spending time with, how she was really feeling. David nodded, promised to talk, but Abigail shut herself in her room after curt, clipped replies.
Two weeks drifted by in the same silent standoff, and Emma convinced herself that overheard conversation was nothing just teenage angst, nothing serious.
But then came that night
David was late at work, some urgent report due by morning. Emma sat in the kitchen, hands wrapped round her cooling tea, when Abigail emerged, fully dressed a short skirt, leather jacket, far too light for the chilly night.
Where are you going?
Out.
Abigail, its dark now, nearly ten oclock maybe better to stay in tonight?
Her stepdaughter shot Emma the usual mix of contempt and irritation.
I can handle myself. I dont need your advice.
Please, Emma hated the pleading sound of her own voice, but couldnt help it, at least leave Dad an address hell be worrying.
Abigail rolled her eyes, grabbed a pen, scrawled something on a scrap of paper, and tossed it onto the table before disappearing out into the night without even a goodbye.
Emma sat in the kitchen, counting the minutes. An hour. Ninety minutes. Two hours. The sky outside was pitch-black by now; David texted saying hed be free only after midnight. A knot of anxiety twisted inside Emma, making it hard to breathe. She picked up the paper and typed the address into her phone, heart pounding as the search brought up a street on the edge of town, an industrial estate with a nightclub nearby reviews full of talk of fights, police call-outs, girls being taken off in ambulances
Emma didnt remember grabbing her coat, rushing outside, flagging down a taxi. Her mind echoed the same frantic thought, sharp and blazing: just let her be alright, let her be safe, let me be on time
The taxi pulled up outside a grim building aglow with neon, and Emma ran down the street, searching every shadow. She heard the commotion before she saw it a muffled cry, scuffling, raucous laughter. She rounded the corner, and time seemed to freeze.
Three lads were dragging Abigail into a dark alley, one clamping a hand over her mouth, another gripping her arms, the third rifling through her jacket pockets. Abigail kicked and struggled, but she was no match for them
Emma didnt think, she just acted charging into the alley with a scream that split the night in two.
Let her go! Thats my daughter! Somebody help!
She scratched, bit, struck out blindly, driven by raw fury no room for fear, only burning desperation. One of the boys fell back clutching his scratched face. Abigail broke free, stumbled aside, while Emma kept yelling, swinging her handbag wildly as a weapon.
From the shadows, another man appeared broad, in a sports jacket, with a deep, growling voice. The boys took one look and bolted, scattered into the darkness like cockroaches when a kitchen light is flicked on. Emma slumped onto the cold pavement, barely noticing her scraped knees or stinging hands, only the thunder of her own racing heart.
Abigail stood pressed against the wall, her whole body trembling, streaks of mascara down her cheeks.
Are you alright? the man asked, gently helping Emma up. Shall I ring the police?
No, Emma gasped, barely standing. No, thank you; were just going home. Thank you.
She called for a cab, and they sat side by side in the back seat, dirty, shaken, hands trembling. Abigail pressed herself into Emmas side, tucked her face into Emmas shoulder and broke down into sobbing, childish tears. Emma wrapped her arms round her, stroked her tangled hair, whispering soothing nonsense that didnt really matter, just being there.
City lights flickered by the window; the driver quietly respected their silence, while Emma kept holding this girl who, only that morning, had regarded her with such contempt. Yet something inside both of them broke and healed, irreversibly changed.
Back at the block of flats, Emma pushed open the door, forgetting even to lock it. The hallway light was on, and David rushed out, white-faced, phone clenched in his shaking hands.
Where have you been? Ive called and called no answer, Abigail gone, you gone, your phone left in the kitchen, I was losing my mind, about to ring the police!
Abigail threw herself at her father, clinging to him like she was a little girl, pouring out a garbled tale about the club, the boys, the dark alley, how they grabbed her, dragged her off, how she couldnt fight, couldnt shout because they covered her mouth, and shed thought, this was it.
If not for her Abigail lifted her tear-streaked face, nodding at Emma I dont know what would have happened. She ran in and attacked them, like a lioness, screamed and scratched, they were scared of her, can you believe it?
David stared at Emma, horror, gratitude, and something else flickering in his eyes, something Emma couldnt name.
And then Abigail let go of her father, came over, and embraced Emma fiercely, desperately, for real.
Im sorry, she whispered into Emmas shoulder. For everything. I was so stupid. You saved me. Thank you.
Emma hugged her back, and the tears finally streamed hot and uncontrolled down her cheeks good tears, healing tears, easing the breath in her chest.
Afterwards, there was tea with mint and honey, and hours of talking, of listening, of confessions and laughter and hugs, and David sitting with both his girls in his arms, whispering that he had the two best women in the whole world.
Emma never became a mother to Abigail, and she didnt try to. But she became her friend the one to call at three a.m., the one to trust with secrets, the one who shows up, no questions asked, whenever you need help. And that was enough. More than enough for all of them, for their happiness. For their family.
