12October 2022
I arrived at the office feeling the weight of the morning rush, but my thoughts were elsewhere. My stepmother, Lucy, had been clearing out my late mothers belongings while I was at work, leaving the flat almost barren.
James, are you even listening? When will you hand in that report? my colleague Emma asked, eyebrows raised.
Sorry, Ill have it done by Friday, I replied, trying to focus on the spreadsheet.
Friday? Its already Thursday! she snapped. Youve been distant lately. Is it because of Lucy again?
I clenched my fists under the desk. Just the mention of Lucy made my throat tighten.
Id rather not talk about it, I said.
Emma leaned in, chair scraping the carpet. You should have a serious chat with Dad. Hes lost his head. He married Lucy only six months after Mums funeral!
Its been eight months, I corrected automatically. Dad is an adult; he knows what hes doing.
Exactlyhe doesnt, Emma replied. Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lucy is young; she probably has her eyes on your flat.
I wanted to argue, but I knew she was right. Lucy was eighteen years younger than Dad. Theyd met at the local health centre where she worked as a nurse, while Dad was still taking Mum to her treatments.
I gathered my files. Im off early today, as we agreed, I told Emma.
Just promise youll call if anything comes up, she said.
The October drizzle was fine as I slipped my coat collar up and walked to the bus stop. The ride home took about twenty minutes, then another five minutes on foot. Id lived with my parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of a ninestorey council block in Camden. After Mums death Id wanted to move out, but my salary was modest and rents were skyhigh.
Dad had persuaded me to stay.
James, dont leave me alone, hed said. Im lost without your mother. I need you close.
So I stayed, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, trying to fill the void Mum left behind. Then Lucy appeared.
At first Dad only mentioned a pleasant nurse in passing. Soon he lingered on evening walks, and six months later he announced he was getting married.
Listen, love, I cant be on my own. I need a partner. Mum would have understood, he said.
I didnt argue. I simply slipped out of the room and locked myself in my bedroom, weeping into the pillow until dawn.
The wedding was a small affairactually, I wasnt invited. I learned about it later when Dad brought Lucy home, passport in hand.
This is my wife now, he said, smiling.
Lucy was tall, blonde, her lips glossy with bright lipstick, nails painted to perfection. She looked no older than thirtyfive, though Dad claimed she was fortytwo.
Nice to meet you, James, she said, extending a hand. Hope we can be friends.
I shook her cold fingers and retreated to the kitchen, where Mums favorite rosepatterned mug sat on the shelf. I filled it with water, my hands trembling.
Lucys early days were careful. She smiled, asked about work, offered help. I responded tersely, keeping my distance. I couldnt forgive Dads haste; Mum had just died, and he was already bringing someone new into the flat.
Gradually Lucy started rearranging. She moved the bedroom furniture, changed the curtains, bought a new set of dishes and shoved Mums things into the back of the wardrobe.
Your mother had good taste, she remarked, but its all old now. Time for a fresh look.
I stayed silent. What could I say? Legally the flat belonged to Dad, and I was merely a tenant.
A month later she slipped in a comment.
James, youre thirtythree now; its time to think about your own life. Living with parents forever you get the idea.
This is my home, I snapped.
Its Dads home, Lucy corrected gently, and now mine too.
Dad never intervened in their arguments; he seemed deaf and blind, strolling around with a blissful grin, constantly hugging Lucy around the waist, calling her pet names. I barely recognized him. Where was the steady, restrained man who had spent thirty years with Mum in love and companionship?
That evening, after stepping off the bus, I quickened my pace, eager to be home, kick off my damp shoes, and have a hot cup of tea. Maybe Dad wouldnt be there; hed said hed stop by a friend. I wanted a quiet moment alone, remembering Mums pies, her bedtime stories, the way she stroked my hair and promised everything would be fine, even when the doctors gave up hope.
Dont be sad, love. Im always with you, shed whispered.
I fumbled for my keys and let the flat door swing open. The place was silent. I slipped off my wet boots, hung my coat, and headed to my room.
The doorframe felt different. The room looked the samebed, wardrobe, desk by the windowbut the familiar emptiness was overwhelming. Where was Mums wooden jewellery box that always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin shed made before I was born? Where were the framed photographs?
I flung open the wardrobe doors. On the top shelf used to be Mums blue shawl, a gift from Dad on their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no I whispered, my hands shaking as I rummaged through the remaining items. Mums cardigan, her books, the photo album at the bottomnone of it was there.
I rushed into the master bedroom. Everything had been cleared out: Mums perfume on the vanity, her hairbrush, even the tiny makeup bag Id never dared to throw away.
What on earth is happening? I muttered.
The flats front door opened, and voices drifted in.
This is such a relief, finally getting rid of that clutter, Lucy said. I dont see why we should keep dead peoples stuff. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, Dad replied. We need to move on.
I stepped into the hallway, where Dad and Lucy were hanging coats. Seeing me, Lucy smiled.
Oh, James, youre home early. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Mums things? I asked, my voice hoarse.
What things? Lucy replied, nonchalant.
Everything! The box, the photos, the books, her clothes!
Lucy sighed as if it were a trivial matter.
I took them to the church, tossed a few things. James, Mums been gone for over a year now. Its time to let go.
What have you done?! I shouted, feeling the floor give way beneath me.
Dad stood silent beside Lucy, his eyes fixed on the floor.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away!
James, dont shout, Dad finally said. Lucys right. We cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? I couldnt believe my ears. Those were my memories of Mum! The only things I have left!
You still have memories, Lucy said gently. Isnt that enough?
No, I replied firmly. It isnt enough.
Give them back, I demanded.
Im afraid thats impossible. The bin has already been taken away.
What bin?
The rubbish container, Lucy shrugged. We cleared out a lot of junkold dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos; theyre in the wardrobe.
I stepped closer. Lucy recoiled instinctively.
You had no right, I whispered.
Im the lady of the house. I have the right to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre an intruder!
James! Dad raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lucy is my wife, and you must respect her.
Respect her after she threw away everything that reminds me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Dad said harshly. Shes gone, and you need to accept that.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! And now you married someone less than a year after she died?
She didnt forget Mum, Lucy said quietly. She just cant be alone. He needs someone.
Youre a wife, not a replacement, I retorted.
Its my home too, Lucy said. And I deserve some respect.
Dad avoided my gaze.
Fine, I said, whatever you say.
I returned to my room and slammed the door, sitting on the bed, clutching my head. The tears Id been holding back finally broke loose, flooding my cheeks. The emptiness inside was icy and allconsuming.
Later that night, a knock came at the door.
James, can I come in? Dads voice was soft.
I didnt answer. The door opened a crack, and he slipped inside.
Lets talk, he said.
About what? I asked, not turning.
Lucy wanted to make the flat better. She thought getting rid of Mums things would help us move forward.
You threw away everything that reminded me of Mum?
He sighed.
Yes, I know its hard. Im also grieving. But life goes on. I met Lucy, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that wrong?
Did you forget Mum?
No, I remember every day. She wont return, and I cant spend my life in endless mourning.
He looked older, his shoulders hunched, but his eyes still held that familiar warmth.
Im not against your happiness, I said. But why destroy the memory?
Lucy didnt destroy it. She cleared away the clutter that held us back.
The clutter was my mothers love, I replied.
He left, closing the door gently behind him.
I opened the wardrobe again and found a small cardboard box hidden at the back. Inside lay Mums amber necklace, her favourite butterfly brooch, a notebook, and a few letters.
Dad, I whispered, clutching the box.
He returned a moment later, eyes widened.
I saved those, he said. When Lucy was about to throw everything out, I hid them for you.
Tears finally spilled over, not just grief but relief. He pulled me into a hug, and we sat together until the kettle boiled cold.
Later, Lucy slipped into my room.
May I? she asked.
Come in, I answered, holding the box on the bedside table.
She pointed at the brooch. Thats your mothers?
Yes.
Its beautiful. I never meant to hurt you. I just didnt think.
She looked sincere, weary.
Alright, I said. Lets try to move forward.
She smiled, the tension easing.
Thank you, she said. Im not trying to replace your mother. Im just your fathers wife. Maybe, with time, we can be friends.
Maybe, I replied cautiously.
The days that followed were quieter. Lucy kept her distance, Dad seemed happier, and I went back to work, returning each evening to the flat that now felt less like a museum of loss and more like a livedin home. Occasionally, Id take the box out, run my fingers over the necklace, and feel Mums presence whisper that everything will be alright.
Lesson learned: Memories cannot be packed away or destroyed; they live in us long after the objects are gone. Holding onto the love, not the things, is what keeps a person close.
