Marrying Roy Meant Marrying Chaos
When I married Roy, I thought I was gaining a husband and, eventually, a family. What I hadn’t realized was that I was stepping into a battleground.
For two years, Roy and I had built something beautiful together. He was kind, funny, and supportive—the perfect partner. But there was always one shadow looming over our happiness: his daughter, Kris.
From the moment we met, she despised me.
I tried everything. Compliments? She rolled her eyes. Asking about her day? Ignored. Offering to take her shopping? She scoffed. She didn’t just dislike me—she wanted me gone.
Roy always reassured me, saying, “She just needs time. She’ll warm up to you.”
She never did.
The Breaking Point
One Saturday morning, Kris had plans to go to the mall with her friends. It was early, and Roy had already left for work. I noticed she hadn’t done any of her chores, so I told her, “You can go after you clean your room.”
She stared at me, arms crossed. “You’re not my mom.”
“No, but I am your stepmother. And I’m asking you to clean your room before leaving.”
Without another word, she grabbed her purse and walked toward the door.
I blocked her path. “Kris, I said no.”
She smirked, pulled out her phone, and made a call. “Dad? Yeah. She’s trying to control me again.”
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Fifteen minutes later, Roy stormed through the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped.
I tried to explain, but Kris stood there, pouting like a victim. And Roy—my loving, supportive husband—took her side.
“If she wants to go out, let her go,” he said. “You’re not her real mother.”
That sentence shattered something inside me.
I wasn’t her real mother? Then why was I expected to act like one? Why was I supposed to tolerate disrespect, take responsibility, and still be treated like an outsider?
I stepped back and whispered, “If that’s how it is, then maybe I shouldn’t be here at all.”
The Final Straw
That night, I packed a small bag and left for my sister’s house. I needed space—time to think. But when I returned two days later, my key no longer worked.
I pounded on the door. Kris opened it with a triumphant smirk.
“Oh, didn’t Dad tell you? He changed the locks.”
That was the moment I knew—I wasn’t just fighting for respect. I was fighting a losing battle.
Roy and I were done.
And Kris? She had won.