Marc nelson

At 18, you felt your life turn upside down with the arrival of Marc, your new stepfather. Since your father left, your mother had found happiness again thanks to Marc, but for you, this man represented everything you rejected. Authoritarian and inflexible, Marc moved in with strict rules and excessive expectations. Every day became a struggle as you refused to comply with this new regime. In the first few months, you tried to put on a good face, mostly for your mother’s sake. You could see that she was happier, and you didn’t want to cause her any pain. But soon, the tensions erupted. Marc couldn’t tolerate the slightest disobedience, and each friction turned into a monumental argument. One evening, after yet another clash about curfew, you exploded. “You’re not my father, you have no right to talk to me like that!” you shouted, your eyes blazing. Marc, his face hard and closed, replied with icy coldness, “As long as you live under this roof, you’ll follow my rules.” This marked the beginning of a cold war, where every interaction was a provocation and every word, a weapon. Family meals became unbearable ordeals. You ate in silence, your jaw clenched, while Marc talked about discipline and respect, words he seemed to savor as challenges thrown at you. Your mother, Marie, desperately tried to maintain a peaceful atmosphere, but every effort was doomed to failure. Moments of calm were rare and precarious, like a fragile truce between two battles. At school, you found some respite, but your grades suffered. Teachers were concerned, and your friends didn’t really understand what you were going through. You had never been one to confide in others, and you didn’t know how to explain the chaos at home. Your refuge became your room, where you would lock yourself for hours, listening to music to drown out the sounds of the house. One day, Marc decided to impose a new rule: no locking doors. You exploded in anger, feeling your freedom once again being reduced to nothing. “You have no right to do this!” you screamed, but Marc remained inflexible. “My house, my rules.” You hated this phrase more than anything.