The new wife of my dad hauled all of Mums things out of the house while I was at work.
Emma, are you even listening? I asked when youll hand in the report!
What? Oh, right, sorry, Megan. Itll be ready by Friday.
By Friday? Todays already Thursday! Megan shook her head reproachfully. Youve barely been here lately. Is it because of that Laura again?
Emma clenched her fists under the desk. Just hearing the name of her fathers new wife tightened her throat.
I dont want to talk about it.
You really should, Megan nudged her chair closer. You need to have a serious talk with Dad. Hes lost his head. He married Laura only six months after Graces funeral!
Eight months, Emma corrected automatically. Dads an adult; he knows what hes doing.
Exactly, he doesnt know! Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lauras young; she must have set her sights on your flat.
Emma wanted to argue, but deep down she knew Megan was right. Laura was eighteen years younger than Dad. Theyd met at the community health centre where she worked as a nurse. Dad had still been taking Mum to appointments back then.
I have to go, Emma packed her papers into her bag. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise youll call if anything comes up. Anytime.
Emma nodded and stepped out of the office. A light October drizzle fell on the street. She pulled her coat collar up and hurried to the bus stop. It was about twenty minutes to the flat, then a fiveminute walk. Shed lived with her parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey block. After Mum died shed thought about moving out, but a low wage and skyhigh rents meant she couldnt afford anything.
Dad had convinced her to stay.
Emma, dont leave me alone, hed said. Im useless without your mother. I need you here.
So she stayed, cooking, cleaning, washing, trying to fill the void Mum had left. Then Laura appeared.
At first Dad merely mentioned a pleasant nurse. Then he lingered on walks, and six months later announced he was getting married.
You see, dear, I cant do this by myself. I need a woman beside me. Mum would understand.
Emma didnt argue. She slipped out of the room, shut the door, and wept into her pillow until morning.
The wedding was tinyactually, there was none at all. They married quietly, even Emma wasnt invited. She learned of it later when Dad brought Laura home, passport stamped.
Meet my wife now.
Laura was tall, dyed blond, bright lipstick, long manicured nails. She looked thirtyfive, though Dad claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Emma, she extended a hand. Hope we can be friends.
Emma shook her icy fingers and moved to the kitchen, where Mums favourite rosepatterned mug sat on a shelf. She filled it with water, hands trembling.
At first Laura behaved carefully, smiling, asking about work, offering help. Emma kept her distance, answering tersely. She couldnt forgive Dads haste; Mum had died only months ago, and hed already brought someone new home.
Gradually Laura settled in. She rearranged the bedroom furniture, changed the curtains in the living room, bought a new set of dishes and shoved Mums belongings into a cupboard.
Your mother had taste, Laura said, but those things are old now. Its time for a fresh look.
Emma stayed silent. What could she say? The flat technically belonged to Dad; she was just a tenant.
A month later hints began.
Emma, youre a grown woman. Youre thirtythree now; its time to build your own life. Living with us you know what I mean.
This is my home, Emma snapped.
Your fathers home, Laura corrected gently. And now mine as well.
Dad never intervened; he seemed deaf and blind to the tension. He roamed the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Laura at the waist, calling her pet names. Emma no longer recognised him. Where was the steady, restrained man who had spent thirty years with Mum in love and harmony?
After getting off the bus, Emma quickened her pace, eager to get home, strip off her wet shoes, and sip hot tea. Perhaps Dad would be out; hed said hed stop by a friend. Then she could sit in the kitchen and remember Mum.
She thought of Mum dailyhow shed baked cabbage pies, read aloud each evening, stroked Emmas hair and promised everything would be fine. Even when illness took hold and doctors gave up hope, Mum still smiled.
Dont be sad, love. Ill always be with you, shed whisper.
Emma fumbled for her keys and opened the door. The flat was quiet. She slipped off the soaked shoes, hung her coat, and headed to her room.
She stopped at the threshold.
The room looked different. She couldnt immediately spot what had changed, but an overwhelming sense of emptiness cut her breath short.
The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window were all there. But where was Mums little jewellery box that always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin Mum had sewn before Emma was born? Where were the framed photographs?
She bolted to the wardrobe, flung it open. On the top shelf had rested Mums blue shawl, the one Dad gave her for their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no
Her hands shook as she rummaged through the remaining items. Mums bathrobe, her books, the photo album at the very bottomnone of it was there. Everything had vanished.
She raced into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. Everything was stripped out there tooMums perfume on the dresser, her hairbrush, even the little makeup bag Emma had never thrown away.
Whats happening? she whispered.
The flats front door opened, voices drifted out.
what a relief, finally cleared out that junk, Laura said. I dont see why we should keep the deads things. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, Dad replied. We need to move on.
Emma stepped into the hallway. Dad and Laura stood by a coat rack, removing jackets. Seeing Emma, Laura smiled.
Ah, Emma, youre home. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Mums things? Emmas voice came out hollow.
What things?
All of them! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where are they?
Laura sighed as if it were a trivial matter.
I took them to church, threw out some. Emma, your mum died over a year ago. Its time to let go.
You what did you do?!
Emma felt the floor disappear beneath her. Dad stood silent beside Laura, looking away.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away!
Emma, dont shout, Dad finally said. Lauras right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy cling.
Unhealthy cling? Emma could not believe her ears. Thats my mothers memory! Its all I have left!
You still have the memories, Laura said softly. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emma replied firmly. It isnt enough.
Return them now.
Im afraid thats impossible. The bins already gone.
Which bin?
The rubbish one, Laura shrugged. It was full of old dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos; theyre still in the cupboard.
Emma stepped closer; Laura recoiled instinctively.
You had no right, Emma whispered.
Im the homeowner now. I can decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the owner! Youre an outsider! Emmas voice rose.
Emma! Dad finally raised his voice. Apologise at once. Laura is my wife; you must respect her.
Respect her? The woman who threw away everything that reminded me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Dad said harshly. Shes gone, you need to accept that.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to me!
Enough, Dad waved his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your silent protests, your stare at Laura. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of Mums memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Laura. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He left the sentence unfinished; Emma understood.
Fine, she said. Ill move out.
Emma, wait, Laura interjected. No ones evicting you. Lets set some rules. This is our home, Dads and mine too. You can stay if you respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Emma asked, weary.
No entering our bedroom, no touching my things, no turning the flat into a museum of your mother.
Emma looked at Dad, who avoided her gaze.
Alright, she said. As you wish.
She retreated to her room, shut the door, sat on the bed, and wrapped her arms around her head. Tears wouldnt come; instead a cold, allconsuming emptiness settled in.
Mums belongingsher jewellery box, the embroidered napkin, the framed photoswere gone. The amber earrings, the butterfly brooch, the diary, the lettersall tossed with the rubbish.
She walked to the window; night had fallen. A few pedestrians hurried home, shielding themselves from the rain with umbrellas. Somewhere, in a skip, her mothers things lay mixed with trash and grime.
A knock sounded at the door.
Emma, may I? Dads voice.
She didnt answer. The door opened a crack and Dad stepped in.
Sweetheart, lets talk.
About what? Emma asked without turning.
Laura just wants to make things right. Shes trying to sort the house, make it cozier.
By throwing away everything that kept Mum alive for me?
Dad sighed.
I know its hard. Ive felt the loss too. But life goes on. I met Laura and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that wrong?
And Mum? Youve forgotten her?
No, I remember Grace every day. She wont come back, but I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
Emma turned to see Dad, now sixtyfive, looking older than his years. Laura seemed to have given him some strength.
Dad, Im not against your happiness. I just cant watch you erase my mothers memory.
Laura didnt erase it. She simply cleared what was holding us back.
It held us back, you say?
Emma, please, give us a chance. Let Laura prove shes a good person.
Good people dont toss away someones cherished things without asking.
Dad shook his head.
Youre as stubborn as your mother.
He left, closing the door softly. Emma opened the wardrobe again, searching for the photographs Laura claimed shed saved. She found three pictures in a clear bag on the top shelf: Grace on their wedding day, Grace holding a baby Emma, and Grace smiling on a summer holiday, hat on her head.
She grabbed her phone and called her friend Megan.
Can I crash at yours?
What happened? Megans voice tightened.
Ill tell you when I get there.
Come over. Im waiting.
Emma packed a bag, tucking the three photos, a change of clothes, and her makeup bag inside. She left the flat, the rain now a steady downpour.
Megans flat was a short fifteenminute walk away. The two had been close, but after Mums illness Emma had withdrawn. Megan opened the door immediately, as if expecting her.
Youre soaked! Quick, get out of that coat, Ill fetch a towel.
The flat was warm, the scent of fresh biscuits filled the air, and a plump orange cat curled on the sofa.
Dry off, Megan handed her a towel. Tell me whats happened.
Emma recounted everything. Megans eyes darkened.
Shes gone off the rails? she exclaimed. How could she throw away someones things?
She thinks shes the owner.
And your dad?
He backed her. Said I should let go of the past.
Megan muttered under her breath.
Maybe its not too late. When did they take the bin out?
This afternoon, I think.
Did you call the refuse centre?
Emma shook her head. She hadnt thought of that.
Lets try, Megan said, pulling out her phone. Whats the management company?
City Homes, I think.
Megan dialed, bounced between operators, finally reaching someone.
Good afternoon, have the bins on Oak Road, number 32 been emptied today? she asked. Yes, theyve gone to the landfill. Its impossible to retrieve anything now.
She hung up, looking apologetic.
Nothing left to do, then?
The important thing is you still have Mum in your mind. Things arent needed for that.
I know, Emma whispered. But sometimes I just want to feel her hand on something.
I get it, Megan said, hugging her tighter. Well get through this together.
They sat until the room grew dark, then Megan got up to make dinner.
Have you eaten today?
I cant remember, Emma admitted.
Lets get you fed, then well figure out tomorrow.
Megan tried to distract Emma with work gossip, news, anything, but Emmas thoughts kept looping: How could Laura do it? How could Dad allow it? What now?
That night Emma slept fitfully on a cot Megan set up in the lounge. The orange cat curled up beside her, purring.
In the morning Megan left for work, telling Emma shed be back later.
Rest, Ill be back tonight. And dont think about it, okay?
Emma brushed her teeth, made coffee, sat by the window watching the grey sky. Her phone rang several timesDads number. She let it go to voicemail.
Later that day a message popped up from Laura.
Emma, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. I just want to sort things out.
Emma stared at the screen, then typed back.
Where?
Maybe the café near your house? Where the old bakery used to be.
Okay, sixp.m.
She put the phone down, wondering what Laura wanted. Was it another attempt to push her out?
At six, Emma arrived at the little café. Laura was already there, stirring her coffee, looking nervous.
Thanks for coming, Laura said, offering a tentative smile.
Emma sat opposite her, saying nothing. The waitress approached, but Emma declined.
I wont stay long, Emma said finally.
Laura sipped her coffee, set the cup down.
Emma, I understand youre angry. But try to see my side. I moved into your fathers house; his things filled the place toophotos, his old coats, his perfume. I felt like an intruder.
Thats not your house, Emma replied coolly. Youre just living here.
Legally Im his wife, so its my home as well, Laura said.
So its about the flat?
No, its about respect. I want you to see me as a partner, not a replacement for Grace.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
Not when every day he looks at a portrait of another woman, when the wardrobe still holds her dresses, when his daughter sees me as an enemy.
Emma sighed.
Laura, Ive never been your enemy. It just hurts to watch Dad forget Mum so quickly. He and you were together thirtyfive years, and now youre together less than a year after she died.
He didnt forget her, Laura whispered. He just cant be alone. He needs someone.
And I? Was I not enough?
Youre his daughter. Thats different.
Emma knew Laura had a point, but accepting it still pained her.
Fine, suppose we accept this. Why toss Mums things? You could have asked.
I wanted to surprise Dad. He complained the flat was cluttered. I helped.
You threw away everything that reminded me of Mum.
I kept the photos the most important ones!
Three photos out of hundreds.
Laura leaned back.
What do you want from me? An apology?
Yes, apologise. But also, give back what you can.
Im sorry, Emma. I didnt think it would hurt you this much. I cant return whats gone, but Ill try to make it right.
Emma stood.
I need to think.
She left the café, theEmma walked home, realizing that honoring her mothers memory meant keeping her love alive within herself, not in the things that could be taken away.
