Divorce Over the Stepdaughter

Neither one nor the other. Im done flying off with your daughter! I cant keep pretending Im happy about it.

Im sick of this big happy family that exists only on my patiences tab. On my patience!

And what do you propose? Mark squinted. Divorce? Over a holiday? Youre serious?

Not over a holiday, Mark. Over the fact you never hear me. And you never will.

For you, Lucy is sacred. And Danmy sonjust were stuck.

On Sunday Claire, as usual, slipped into Lucys room with a bucket and mop. The chaos there was, as always, unimaginable.

She hadnt set foot in that room since Lucy left for university.

Claire opened the cupboard, and the rag hit the table with a thud.

Princess, she hissed, eyeing a poster of an Arctic Monkeys gig on the wall. How can a girl be so sloppy?!

Go and tidy up, at least!

Three years ago Claire met Mark and moved in with him and his son. For thirtysix months the truce between her and her stepdaughter was a thin veneer. They despised each other, each hiding true feelings from the father and husband.

Claire spent nearly two hours cleaning Lucys room, then stepped into the hallway and pushed open the door to the tiniest bedrooma narrow, elongated space like a school locker.

The window faced north, so it was perpetually dim, even in daylight. A pullout sofa sat there because a fullsize double bed simply wouldnt fit.

Ethan, her elevenyearold son, never complained. He was a quiet boy, content with whatever was handed to him, and that irritated Claire doubly.

She didnt need to deepclean Ethans room; a quick dustoff and a swipe of the floor were enoughEthan kept it tidy on his own.

Mum, why are you stuck in there? Ethans voice floated from the kitchen. The kettles whistling.

Claire exhaled, wiped the hallway floor, poured the dirty water down the loo and went to make tea.

Mark sat at the table, glued to his laptop.

Have a seat, Claire, he said without looking up. Im looking at options. Spain or Greece?

Greece must be breezy now.

Claire poured herself a coffee. Ethan finished his toast, thanked her, and bolted from the table.

Claire decided it was time.

Mark, we need to talk.

He finally tore his eyes away from the screen.

Whats with the tone? Whats happened? Did Ethan get another bad grade?

No. It isnt about Ethan. Its about the holiday.

Go on. Ive been checking hotels. Theres a brilliant fivestar resort in Marbella with a massive water park. Lucy would love it, and Ethan too.

Every time Lucys name came up, Claire felt a knot tighten.

Mark, her voice trembled. I was thinking maybe this time we could go, just us?

Mark frowned, puzzled.

What do you mean? Whose family are we flying with? Nobody else invited us.

I mean without Lucy. Just you, me and Ethan.

A pause stretched. Mark slowly closed his laptop.

Claire, Lucy is on break, shes expecting this trip. We always travel together. Its a tradition.

And what does our family even mean? Isnt my daughter part of my family?

Traditions can change if we want. Weve been married three years and never taken a threeperson holiday. Its always been her with us.

Im exhausted, Mark. I just want a break with my own little family, without worrying what your daughter thinks, what mood shes in, or which room shell need.

Marks temper rose.

Lucy is part of my family. You knew that when you married me.

I knew! But I didnt know shed be so… present! She lives in another city, has her own mother, school, friends.

Why does every vacation have to revolve around her?

Because Im her father. I see her rarely. A holiday is the only time we can actually spend quality time together.

And me?! Claire snapped. And Ethan? Are we just props for your fatherdaughter bonding? Servants?

Ethan is stuck in a perpetual chase. His room is half the size of hers, even though he lives here fulltime!

Here we go again about the room, Mark winced. We closed that chapter. This was my childhood home, that room was mine first, then hers.

So my son doesnt deserve his own space?!

Mark sighed, stood, and walked over.

Fine. Calm down. I hear you. Youre tired, works crushing you, nerves frayed You want your own companyso have it.

Claire froze. Did he really mean it?

Are you serious?

If its that hard for you, lets try. Just once. Without Lucy.

Claire turned, pressed her cheek against his chest, and hid a relieved smile. Small victory, but a victory.

The next day Claire floated on air. At work the reports filed themselves, the usually stern accounts clerk seemed pleasant, and the drizzle outside felt like a gentle spring rain.

That evening, while she was prepping dinner, her phone buzzedan instant message from Mark.

Check the options. Im leaning towards the second one, it has a great spa. Followed by three links.

Claire dabbed her hands on a towel, unlocked the phone, and hit the first link.

Each site flashed a banner: Adultsonly.

At first she was baffled, then realised: these hotels simply dont take children, only adults.

She reread Marks text. Mistake?

She called him. He answered immediately, the sound of a car engine in the backgroundhe was driving home.

Hows it looking? Which ones best? he asked, upbeat. The second looks topnotch, theyve got a steakhouse.

Mark Claire sank onto a stool. Why are the hotels 18+?

What do you mean, why? You said yesterday, I want my own family, tired of the kids.

She thought, Why not make a simple plan? Just the two of us, a honeymoon we missed.

Send Ethan to Grandma, Lucy will stay with her mother. Well have a proper break, actually sleep.

Mark, you dont understand, Claire said slowly. I didnt want a holiday with no kids at all. I wanted one without Lucy.

A silence hung.

Without Lucy? And Ethan stays?

Of course! Where else would I leave him? Mums health cant handle two weeks with him.

Besides, hes only just learned to swim properly last year

Hold on. Lets sort this out. You said our family. I naïvely thought you meant romance. Turns out you just want to exclude my daughter from our trip?

Exclude! Claire shot up, pacing the cramped kitchen. Just once, the three of us: me, you, Ethan.

Whats criminal about that? We live together! We are a separate family, Mark!

And Lucy?

She lives elsewhere! Mark, it hurts! Ethan is always a supporting act. I want him to feel he matters, that the holiday is his too, not just hers!

Mark cut in. Fine. Listen carefully, Claire. I will never sort children into classes.

First classyour Ethan, because he lives here. Second classmy Lucy, because shell manage.

I dont sort!

You do. Youre offering to take my daughter and tell my Lucy: Sorry love, you dont fit into our perfect picture, stay home. Can you imagine how that looks? How Id have to explain it?

Aunt Claire doesnt want to see you?

Why be so blunt? We could say there were no spots, money was tight

I wont lie to her. Im not a scoundrel.

Mark fell silent, then continued.

Heres my ultimatum. Either we all gome, you, Ethan, Lucyas usual. Or just the two of us, no kids at all. No third option where one child suns and the other sulks in a dusty town. Never.

But Mark

Enough. Im leaving. Conversation over.

Mark hung up. Claire flung the phone onto the table; it slid across the countertop and hit the breadbox.

She fumed. If they travelled just the two of them, Ethan would stay in this stifling town with his grandmother, eating lumpy porridge and being forced to read Dickens aloud. If they all went Lucy would hog the best seat in the car, get the first icecream, and Mark would be cooing, Dont melt, love, while Ethan would be stuck in the back like a tail.

The next day Mark returned, they ate dinner in strained silence, and then Mark broke the deadlock.

So, booking that resort with the water park? he said, opening his laptop. Four of us. Two roomskids together, us together.

Mark Claire whispered.

Hmm?

Dont book.

He froze, eyes lifting slowly.

What do you mean, dont book? Are we back at square one?

Claire had heard his ultimatum: all or nothing.

I heard it, she said. You said either with two or just us.

Im filing for divorce, she blurted.

Dont be absurd. Have you lost your mind? I love Ethan, I love you, and

I love you, Claire nodded. Like a convenient sofa. But if the sofa no longer fits in the room where your daughters piano sits, youll throw it out!

Claire, stop the hysteria! I dont get whats starting!

She walked to the window, stared out for minutes, then turned.

I think Im really going to file for divorce.

Mark snorted and slammed his laptop shut with a loud thunk.

Fine then. Destroy the family over petty jealousy. How mature.

Who will you need then? A kid in a rented flat? Use your head, not just your feelings!

I think, Claire replied without turning, Id rather live in a modest onebed flat and know its ours. So my son sleeps on a proper bed, not in Dads attic cupboard. So we stop constantly fighting the girl for space that rightfully belongs to us.

Well manage, Mark

A floorboard creaked in the hallwayEthan must have been listening.

Claire was fed up. Divorce meant debt, loneliness, a son just getting used to having a father. But she could no longer tolerate the endless competition.

Tomorrow well talk, Mark said, standing. Im off to bed. You think it over, alright?

He left, the bedroom door closing softly, and Claire remained in the kitchen. Lucy would be back in a week, dumping her belongings in the living room, laughing loudly, interrupting everyone at the table, while Mark would stare at her with an adoration Claire never received.

No more, she whispered. I cant.

She opened her banking app, glanced at her balancejust enough for a deposit on a flat and the first months rent.

She slipped out of the room and headed to the bedroom. Tomorrow would be a tough daypacking, talks with Ethan, house hunting. She finally needed a proper break.

Despite Marks halfhearted protests, Claire went through with the divorce. She had hoped hed see the error of his ways, that hed give up his older daughter, but nothing changed.

Soon after, the marriage dissolved and the stepfamily vanished. Mark stopped calling, texting, or visiting.

Claire sometimes regretted it. Maybe she should have endured? Shed smashed the happiness shed built with her own hands.