The new wife of his father hauled Moms belongings out of the house while I was at work.
Emily, are you even listening? I asked when youll hand in the report!
What? Oh, right, sorry, Claire. Everything will be ready by Friday.
By Friday? Its already Thursday! Claire snapped, shaking her head. Youve barely been here lately. Is it because of that Lydia again?
Emily clenched her fists under the desk. Just hearing the name of her fathers new wife made her throat tighten.
I dont want to talk about it.
You should, Claire pushed her chair closer. You need to have a serious talk with your dad. Hes lost his head. He married that her only six months after your mothers funeral!
Eight months, Emily corrected automatically. And Dad is an adult; he knows what hes doing.
Exactly, he doesnt know! Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lydia is young; she must have her eyes on your flat.
Emily wanted to argue, but she knew Claire was right. Lydia was eighteen years younger than James. Theyd met at the clinic where she worked as a nurse, back when James still drove Mom to her treatments.
I have to go, Emily gathered her papers in a hurry. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise youll call if anything comes up. Anytime.
Emily nodded and left the office. A fine October drizzle fell outside. She pulled her coat collar up and hurried to the bus stop. The ride home took about twenty minutes, then another five minutes on foot. Shed lived with her parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey block. After Moms death shed wanted to move out, but a tiny salary and skyhigh rents meant a months rent would disappear in a week.
James had convinced her to stay.
Em, 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 hole Mom left. Then Lydia appeared.
At first James only mentioned a lovely nurse. Then he lingered on walks. Six months later he announced he was getting married.
You see, darling, I cant be on my own. I need a woman beside me. Your mother would have understood.
Emily didnt argue. She slipped out of the room, locked herself in, and wept into her pillow until dawn.
The wedding was modestactually, there was none. They signed the papers quietly, never even inviting Emily. She learned it later when James brought Lydia home, passport stamp in hand.
Meet my wife.
Lydia stood tall, blonde, bright lipstick, long manicured nails. She looked about thirtyfive, though James claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Emily, she extended a hand. Hope we can be friends.
Emily shook the cold fingers and drifted into the kitchen, where on a shelf sat Moms favourite rosepatterned mug. She lifted it, filled it with water, hands trembling.
At first Lydia behaved cautiouslysmiling, asking about work, offering help. Emily kept her distance, replying curtly. She couldnt forgive her fathers haste. Mom had died only weeks before, and hed already brought someone new home.
Gradually Lydia settled in. She rearranged the bedroom furniture, switched the curtains in the lounge, bought a new set of crockery and shoved Moms things deeper into the wardrobe.
Your mother had taste, Lydia said, but thats old now. We need a fresh look.
Emily stayed silent. What could she say? The flat belonged to James; legally she was a guest.
A month later the barbs began.
Emily, youre a grown woman, thirtythree now. Time to sort your own life out. Living with your parents forever you get the picture?
This is my home, Emily snapped.
Your fathers home, Lydia corrected gently. And now mine as well.
James never intervened. He moved around the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Lydia around the waist, calling her pet names. Emily barely recognised him. Where was the steady, reserved man who had spent thirty years with Mom in love and harmony?
When Emily stepped off the bus, she quickened her pace, eager to get home, kick off the wet shoes, sip hot tea, maybe find a quiet moment to remember Mom.
She thought of Mom every daybaking cabbage pies, reading aloud at night, stroking Emilys hair and promising everything would be alright. Even when illness had taken hold and doctors gave up hope, Mom smiled.
Dont be sad, love. Im always with you.
Emily fumbled for her keys, opened the door, and was greeted by a hushed flat. She slipped off the soaked shoes, hung her coat and walked to her room.
She stopped at the threshold.
The room looked different. She couldnt pin down what had changed, but an emptiness hit her like a physical blow.
The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window were all where they had always been. But where was Moms little jewellery box that always sat on the nightstand? The embroidered napkin Mom had sewn before Emily was born? The framed photographs?
She rushed to the wardrobe, flung it open. On the top shelf had lain Moms blue shawl, the one James had given her on their anniversary. It was gone.
No, no, no
Her hands shook as she rifled through the remaining items. Moms robe, her books, the photo album at the bottomeverything vanished.
She bolted into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. Everything had been cleared out: Moms perfume on the dressing table, her comb, even the cheap makeup bag Emily had never thrown away.
Whats happening? she whispered.
The flats front door opened and voices drifted in.
what a relief, finally getting rid of that junk, Lydia said. I dont see why we should keep the deads stuff. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, James replied. We need to move on.
Emily stepped into the corridor. James and Lydia stood by a coat rack, shedding jackets. Lydia turned, smiled at her.
Oh, Emily, youre back. We were just tidying up while you were out.
Where are Moms things? Emilys voice was hoarse.
What things?
All of them! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes!
Lydia sighed as if it were a trivial matter.
I took them away. Donated some to the church, tossed the rest. Emily, your mother died over a year ago. Its time to let go.
You what did you do?!
Emily felt the floor drop out from under her. James stood silent beside Lydia, watching her.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Moms things away!
Emily, dont shout, James finally raised his voice. Lydias right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? Emily could not believe her ears. Thats my mothers memory! Its all I have left!
You still have memories, Lydia said gently. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Emily replied firmly. I need more.
Return everything right now.
Im afraid thats impossible. The containers already gone.
Which container?
The rubbish bin, Lydia shrugged. It was full of junk: old dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos; theyre in the wardrobe.
Emily stepped closer. Lydia instinctively stepped back.
You had no right, Emily whispered.
Im the lady of the house now. I have full authority to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre an intruder! Emilys voice cracked.
Emily! James raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lydia is my wife; you must respect her.
Respect her? The woman who threw away everything that reminded me of Mom?
Your mother is dead, James said harshly. Accept it.
How can you say that? You lived with her for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to you!
Enough, James waved his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your constant hints, your silence, the way you stare at Lydia. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of Moms memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Lydia. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He didnt finish, but Emily understood.
Fine, she said. Ill move out.
Wait, Emily, Lydia interjected. No ones kicking you out. Lets set some ground rules. This is our home, my fathers and mine. You can stay if you respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Emily asked, exhausted.
No entering our bedroom, dont touch my things, dont turn the flat into a museum of your mothers life.
Emily looked at James. He avoided her gaze.
Alright, she said quietly. As you wish.
She retreated to her room, slammed the door, sat on the bed and clasped her hands over her head. Tears wouldnt come; instead a cold, allconsuming void settled in her chest.
Moms thingsevery tangible link to herwere gone. The jewellery box she opened each night for Moms rings and brooches, the photo album of trips to the country house, birthdays, Sunday walks in the park. All thrown away like rubbish.
She rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen, a few pedestrians hurrying home under umbrellas. Somewhere, in a landfill, Moms belongings lay mixed with waste.
A knock sounded at the door.
Emily, may I come in? James called.
She didnt answer. The door opened a crack, James slipped inside.
Sweetheart, lets talk.
About what? Emily asked without turning.
Lydia just wants to make the house nicer.
By discarding everything that reminded you of Mom?
James sighed.
Emily, I know its hard. Its hard for me too. I loved your mother with all my heart. But shes gone, and I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning. Lydia gave me a chance to feel alive again.
Emily turned, seeing a sixtyfiveyearold man, slightly stooped, his eyes tired but softened by Lydias presence.
Dad, Im not against your happiness. But why destroy Moms memory?
She didnt destroy it, she cleared away what held us back.
It wasnt holding us back, it was the only thing that kept her close.
James shook his head.
Youre stubborn, just like your mother.
He left, closing the door gently behind him. Emily opened the wardrobe and found three photographs in a thin plastic sleeve: Mom at their wedding, Mom cradling a tiny Emily, Mom smiling in the garden with a straw hat. Just three out of hundreds.
She dialed Claires number.
Can I crash at your place?
What happened? Claires voice trembled.
Ill tell you when I get there.
Come quick. Im waiting.
Emily packed a bag, slipped the three photos, a change of clothes, her makeup bag, and fled the flat. In the kitchen James and Lydia sat with tea, Lydia humming cheerfully, James nodding.
Im leaving for a few days, Emily announced.
Where to? James turned.
To a friend.
Emily, dont be daft, Lydia interjected. Everybody argues sometimes. Lets just start fresh.
Fresh? You threw away Moms life.
Those were just things!
For you, maybe. For me, they were everything.
You have memories, thats enough.
Not enough, Emily said, voice steady. I need the things.
She walked out into a strengthening rain, the streets slick with water. Claires flat was a fifteenminute walk away. Theyd been close friends, but after Moms illness Emily had become a recluse.
Claire opened the door as if expecting her.
Oh my God, youre soaked! Quickly, take off that coat, Ill get a towel.
Emily entered, the warmth of the flat enveloping her, the scent of fresh biscuits, a plump orange cat curling on the sofa.
Here, dry off, Claire handed a towel. Tell me everything.
Emily recounted, Claires face darkening with each detail.
Shes gone mad? Claire exclaimed. How can someone just toss another persons belongings?
She thinks shes the lady of the house.
And your dad?
He sided with her, said it was time to let go.
Claire cursed under her breath.
Maybe its not completely lost? When did they take the bin?
This afternoon, Lydia said it was already gone.
Did you call the dump?
Emily shook her head.
No.
Lets try, Claire said, grabbing the phone. Whats the managingagent name?
HomeServe I think.
After a long hold, a dispatcher answered.
Yes, the containers on Willow Road, number 32, were emptied this morning. They went to the landfill.
Claire hung up, looking guilty.
Nothing you can do now, but you still remember Mom. No thing can take that away.
I need to touch something that still smells of her, Emily whispered.
I get it, Claire said, hugging her. Lets just hold onto the memory.
They sat until night fell, then Claire prepared dinner.
Have you eaten? she asked.
I cant remember, Emily admitted.
Lets get you fed, then well figure out tomorrow.
Emily tried to listen, but her mind replayed Lydias betrayal, Jamess indifference, the empty flat.
That night she barely slept, tossing on the thin mattress Claire had set up. The orange cat curled against her, purring weakly.
Morning came, Claire left for work, reminding Emily to rest.
Ill be back tonight. No thinking about anything, okay?
Emily ignored the advice, showered, brewed coffee, stared out the window at the grey sky. Her phone rang several timesJames calling. She let it go to voicemail.
Later that afternoon a text pinged from Lydia.
Emily, can we meet and talk? I didnt mean to hurt you. Lets sort this out.
Emily stared at the screen, then typed back.
Where?
Maybe the café near the old bakery?
Six pm.
She set the phone down, wondering what Lydia wanted. Another manipulation?
At six, Emily arrived at the café. Lydia was already at a corner table, coffee steaming. She offered a tentative smile.
Thanks for coming.
Emily sat, saying nothing. The waitress approached, but Emily declined.
I wont stay long.
Lydia took a sip, then set the cup down.
Emily, I get that youre angry. I married your father, moved into his flat, and found it filled with someone elses things. I felt like a stranger in my own home.
Thats not my home, Emily said calmly. Youre just living in it.
Im his wife. By law, its my home too.
So the issue is the flat?
No! Its respect. I want you to see me as a partner, not a replacement for your mother.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
Not when he still looks at your mothers portrait every day, when her dresses hang in the wardrobe, when you, his daughter, treat me like a foe.
Emily sighed.
Lydia, I was never your enemy. It just hurts to watch Dad forget Mum so quickly. They were together thirtyfive years. He remarried less than a year after she died.
He didnt forget her, Lydia said softly. He just cant stand being alone. He needs someone.
And I? Was I not there?
Youre his daughter. Thats not the same.
Emily knew Lydia was right, but accepting it felt like swallowing glass.
Fine, suppose I accept this. Why throw away Moms things? You could have asked.
I wanted to surprise your dad. He complained the flat was cramped, that old stuff needed clearing.
Thats why you tossed everything that reminded me of Mum.
I kept the photos! The most important ones!
Three photos out of hundreds.
Lydia leaned backEmily stared at the empty chair across from her, felt the weight of loss and the fragile possibility of peace settle over her, and whispered, Lets try to live together without erasing the past..
