My Husband Returned His Daughter to Her Mother

The climax of the holiday dinner arrived not with the dessert, but with a piece of plastic. My stepdaughter, Setlla Maxwell, took the gift card I’d handed her—a discreetly wrapped fifty-dollar bill I’d included with a sincere card—and dropped it with an audible clatter into the trash can beside the dining table. “Five hundred?” she scoffed, the number ringing with deliberate contempt. “Are you serious? You tossing a handout to a pauper? Mom said she was sending me five thousand this year, directly wired.” She stared me down, her usually bright blue eyes narrowed into slits of accusation. “Honestly, only Dad would fall for a cheap date like you. My mother is actually generous.” I gripped my fork, saying nothing. The silence in the dining room was thick enough to choke on. But then Liam—my husband, Setlla’s father—suddenly wiped his hands on his napkin, picked up his phone, and slid it across the tabletop. “Fine,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “If your mother is so generous, then you can go live with her.” He publicly dialed his ex-wife’s number. “Vicky,” he stated into the phone, his gaze never leaving Setlla. “Your daughter finds our home ‘cheap.’ I’m returning her custody to you. Come pick her up now.” On the other end, after a long, stunned silence, Victoria’s voice finally came back, cold and sharp. “That girl? I cut that anchor loose ages ago, Liam.”

1 The line went dead with a resolute beep-beep-beep. The sneer of triumph on Setlla’s face froze instantly, replaced by a mask of horrified denial. “No! That’s impossible! My mom would never abandon me.” She shrieked, jumping to her feet. “This is a lie! You two—you two set this up to trick me!” Her bloodshot eyes locked onto Liam, then swung venomously toward me. “My mother loves me most! She told me I was her little princess! She would never! It’s you! You’re the one who poisoned her against me! You did this!” On the final word, her finger jutted out, nearly poking my cheek. Liam’s face darkened instantly. He pulled me back, his tall, broad frame shielding me completely. He looked at his spoiled, entitled daughter, and I could see the bottomless pit of disappointment in his eyes. “We set this up?” He let out a harsh, chilling laugh. “Setlla, you’re sixteen, not six. Your mother loves you? How exactly has she shown it? Has she ever bought you a single cashmere sweater, or paid for one of your AP courses? Was she the one who stood up for you when you got into that mess with the soccer team, or the one who rushed you to the ER when your fever spiked at 3 AM?” A rapid-fire series of brutal questions. Setlla couldn’t answer any of them. Since the divorce, Victoria’s love for her daughter had existed solely in text messages and the carefully curated fantasy of phone calls. “So what? She promised me a better life! Her love is unique!” Setlla stammered, though her voice was already trembling with tears. “Unique manipulation, you mean.” Liam brutally tore through the flimsy illusion she clung to. “She has groomed you to believe she’s your savior, all so you would constantly fight me and Harper. Do you know why?” He leaned in, forcing her to meet his stare, his words slow and deliberately cruel. “Because she wants you to be her retirement fund. Her new boyfriend’s family? They have money, but they won’t fund Victoria forever. Her only solid investment was you—her perfectly brainwashed, dutiful daughter.” “You’re lying! You’re just lying!” Setlla screamed, clamping her hands over her ears, shaking her head violently. Liam didn’t stop. He was committed to this, the most painful form of tough love. “But now, she doesn’t need that investment anymore. Because she’s pregnant.” Setlla’s head shot up, her disbelief staggering. “She’s pregnant, three months along. It’s a boy,” Liam continued, his tone clinical, bordering on monstrous. “She has a new child, the real bond to her new family. Which means, you—her ex-husband’s daughter—have just transitioned from a future financial asset to an obsolete burden. Do you understand now?” “I don’t believe you! You’re tricking me!” Setlla’s control snapped entirely. “You want to shatter her image so your new wife can take her place! It’s you, you home-wrecker!” She lunged, directing all her displaced fury and confusion onto me. 2 She grabbed my arm and began to shake me wildly. Liam’s face was stone. He clamped down on her wrist and physically yanked her away from me, throwing her several feet back. Setlla stumbled, catching herself on the wall. “That is enough, Setlla! You ever lay a hand on Harper again, I swear to God—” Liam’s voice was a low, terrifying growl of warning. “I will! I’ll make her leave!” Setlla spotted my coat and scarf hanging in the hallway—an expensive cashmere piece I’d bought myself as a treat. She flew at it, grabbing the fabric. With a wild, guttural cry, she flung the beautiful, oatmeal-colored cashmere coat I’d saved three months of salary for, straight out the second-story window. “Get out! Get all your trash out of this house!” Unsatisfied, she rushed into my office, which also served as my art space. A moment later, the sound of breaking glass and tumbling objects echoed through the house. When we got there, my small sanctuary was a disaster. Lipstick tubes snapped in half, powder compacts pulverized, and my favorite perfume pooled on the floor, the sickly-sweet, destructive scent mixing with the rage. But the worst was the small, framed charcoal sketch sitting on my bedside table. It was a portrait of Liam and me—the first thing I’d ever truly drawn well, a birthday gift that had taken me weeks. The glass frame was now shattered, and a thick, dark scarlet line of lipstick had been savagely smeared across the paper, slashing through my face. “See this?” Setlla was holding the broken lipstick tube aloft like a weapon. “I’m going to destroy everything you care about! This house doesn’t want you!” She even pulled out her phone, snapped a photo of the wreckage, and sent it to Victoria. Mom! Look, I smashed all of that woman’s cheap stuff! I stood up for you! Come back, let’s kick her out, this house is ours again! She looked up at us, a final, defiant look of expected approval on her face. Liam looked at her, and the last flicker of warmth I’d ever seen him hold for her died in his eyes. He didn’t say a word. He walked out of the room, returning minutes later dragging an empty, wheeled suitcase—Setlla’s suitcase. He opened her closet and began pulling her clothes out, dropping them into the bag one by one. His movements were swift, efficient, and devoid of emotion. Setlla just stared, completely frozen. “Dad? What are you doing?” A tremor of real panic entered her voice. 3 Liam ignored her, stuffing her books, her plush toys, her makeup, everything she owned, into the case. “You wanted to find your mother, didn’t you?” He zipped the bag shut, pushing the suitcase toward her. His eyes were cold, like a Siberian frost. “Now, you will. You think she loves you most? Go find her. This house no longer has room for you.” Setlla was utterly terrified now. She realized this wasn’t a threat; it was final. “I’m not going! This is my house! You can’t make me leave!” She lunged for the bag. “It’s my house, and Harper and I are in charge now!” Liam grabbed her arm, his grip hard enough to make her gasp in pain. “Get out. Go find the mother who loves you. I want to see if her new setup has a room for her ‘obsolete burden.’” He was practically dragging her out. “Let go of me, Liam! You’re choosing a stranger over your own daughter! You’ll regret this!” Her screams echoed through the hallway. I stood in the wreckage of my office, watching the horrifying, self-inflicted chaos. Liam opened the front door, shoved Setlla and her suitcase onto the porch, and slammed the door shut. The sudden finality of the latch cutting off her desperate screams was deafening. Setlla was outside, pounding on the door, her crying hysterical. “Open up! Liam, open the door! You’ll both pay for this!” “I’ll go to my mom! You’ll never have a daughter again!” Inside, Liam leaned against the door, his eyes red-rimmed, his body shaking with a residual, volcanic rage. The pounding continued for a long time, softening eventually into helpless, muffled sobs, and then, finally, nothing. Silence. I walked over to Liam and gently wrapped my hand around his freezing cold one. He turned his head to me, the anger replaced by a crushing weariness and guilt. “I am so sorry, Harper.” His voice was raw. “I let this happen. I let her hurt you.” I shook my head, unable to speak. Just then, my phone chimed with a new social media update. It was Setlla. The photo was a selfie taken right outside our front door. She was pulling her suitcase, tears still visible on her cheeks, but forcing a tight, mocking smile. The caption read: Finally free of that disgusting house. Off to the only person who truly loves me! Some people are just going to end up a lonely, old couple with no one to care for them! I showed the phone to Liam. He glanced at it, his face unreadable, then quietly took the device and immediately blocked and deleted both Setlla’s and Victoria’s contact details and accounts. “From now on,” he looked at me, his gaze firm and resolute, “we are done with them.”