I Paid for My Stepdaughter’s Fifteenth Birthday Party, Then Her Father Went Back to His Ex-Wife: Ten…

15th April

I paid for my stepdaughters fifteenth birthday party, and her father went back to her biological mother.

Ten years. Ten years I raised that child as if she were my own.

I changed her nappies when she was small. I took her to her lessons every week. I helped her with her homework, taught her how to care for herself, hugged her when she suffered her first heartbreak.

And she called me Mum. Not Dads wife. Not Stepmother. Mum.

When she turned fifteen, Id been planning her party for months. I rented a lovely hall in Oxford, ordered a special dress, organised music and prepared food for a crowd. I spent all my savings, but I knew it would be worth it.

She was my daughter. Or so I thought.

Three weeks before the party, her biological mother appeared. This woman had been gone for years no support, no calls, no presence at all. Suddenly she was in my home, upset, declaring she wanted a fresh start.

I should have sensed something was wrong. But I wanted to believe it was for the best.

On the day of the party, I arrived early to check the final details. The hall was perfect decorated, set up, just right. As I was making sure everything was in place, someone touched my shoulder.

I was told it would be better if I left. That this was a family moment. That there was no place for me there.

I tried to explain that I had raised her. That I had paid for everything. But nothing I said mattered.

The man Id shared my life with for years only said that it was best for the child.

I didnt cry. I didnt shout. I just walked away.

That evening, as I packed my things into boxes, the doorbell rang. It was late.

I opened the door.

There she was in her party dress, eyes puffy, exhausted.

I left, she told me. I couldnt stay there without you.

I tried to tell her she should be with her parents, but she hugged me and whispered: Youre my mum. You know everything about me. Youve always been there for me.

I held her tightly.

She told me that when they thanked the family at her party, she asked where I was. They told her Id decided not to come. She corrected them in front of everyone. And then she left.

And she stayed with me.

We watched films late into the night. We ate takeaway pizza. We talked. For the first time in days, I felt at peace.

The next day, my phone rang endlessly. I didnt answer.

Months later, it all finally ended, officially. I started a new chapter. She carried on with her studies and chose to live with me.

She still keeps that dress in her wardrobe.

To remind me of the day I chose my real family, she says.

And sometimes, I wonder:

Who really abandoned whom that day?