The stepdaughters new stepmother emptied the late mothers things while I was at the office
Verity, are you even listening? Im asking when youll turn in that report!
What? Ohsorry, Emma. By Friday everything will be ready.
By Friday? Its already Thursday, Emma snapped, shaking her head. Youve hardly been here lately. Is it because of that Lucy again?
Verity clenched her fists under the desk. Just hearing the name of her fathers new wife tightened a knot in her throat.
I dont want to talk about it.
Dont avoid it, Emma leaned her chair forward. You need to have a serious talk with your dad. Hes lost his head. He married her half a year after your mothers funeral!
Eight months, Verity corrected automatically. Dads an adult, he knows what hes doing.
Exactlyhe doesnt know! Men his age are especially vulnerable. And Lucy is young, probably eyes on your flat.
Verity wanted to argue, but she knew Emma was right. Lucy was eighteen years younger than Edward. Theyd met at the clinic where she worked as a nurse, while Edward still shuttled his wife to appointments.
I have to go, Verity gathered her papers hurriedly. We agreed I could leave early today.
Go, go. Just promise youll call if anything comes up. Anytime.
She nodded and stepped out of the office. A fine October drizzle fell. She pulled up her coat collar and hurried to the bus stop. The ride home was about twenty minutes, then a short walk. She had lived with her parents in a twobedroom flat on the third floor of an old ninestorey block. After her mothers death shed thought of moving out, but her salary was small and London rents were such that a month wouldnt even cover a room.
Edward had coaxed her to stay.
Verity, dont leave me on my own, hed said. Im like a ship without a rudder without your mother. I need you close.
So she stayed, cooking, cleaning, washing, trying to fill the hollow left by her mother. Then Lucy appeared.
At first Edward only mentioned a pleasant nurse. Then he lingered on walks. Six months later he announced he was getting married.
Sweetheart, I cant be alone. I need a woman beside me. Your mother would understand.
Verity didnt argue. She slipped out of the room, shut the door, and wept into her pillow until dawn.
The wedding was quietactually, there was no ceremony at all. They slipped away unnoticed; Verity wasnt even invited. She learned of it later when Edward brought Lucy home, a passport seal still fresh.
Meet my wife now.
Lucy was tall, dyed blonde, bright lipstick, long manicured nails. She could have been thirtyfive, though Edward claimed she was fortytwo.
Hello, Verity, she said, extending a hand. I hope well become friends.
Verity shook her cold fingers and drifted to the kitchen, where on a shelf sat her mothers beloved pinkdotted mug. She poured herself water, hands trembling.
At first Lucy was carefulsmiling, asking about work, offering help. Verity kept her distance, answering tersely. She couldnt forgive her fathers haste. Her mother had died only months before, and he already had another.
Gradually Lucy settled in. She rearranged the bedroom furniture, swapped the livingroom curtains, bought a new set of dishes and pushed her mothers china into a cupboard.
Your mother had taste, Lucy said, but thats all old now. Its time for a fresh look.
Verity stayed silent. What could she say? The flat belonged to Edward; formally she owned nothing there.
A month later the hints began.
Verity, youre a grown woman. Youre thirtythree; its time to build your own life. Living with your parents forever you know what I mean.
This is my home, Verity snapped.
This is your fathers home, Lucy corrected gently, and now mine as well.
Edward never intervened. He seemed deaf and blind to the tension, strolling through the flat with a blissful smile, constantly hugging Lucy at the waist, calling her pet names. Verity no longer recognized him. Where was the steady, restrained man who had spent thirty years loving her mother?
When Verity stepped off the bus, she quickened her pace, eager to reach home, strip off her wet shoes, and sip hot tea. Perhaps her father would be out; hed said he was stopping by a friend. She imagined sitting in the kitchen, remembering her mother.
She thought of her mother every daybaking cabbage pies, reading aloud in the evenings, smoothing Veritys hair and whispering that everything would be alright. Even when ill, when doctors had given up hope, her mother smiled.
Dont be sad, love. Ill always be with you.
Verity fumbled for her keys and opened the door. The flat was silent. She slipped off her damp shoes, hung her coat, and went to her room.
She froze on the threshold.
The room looked different. She couldnt immediately tell what had changed, but an emptiness pressed against her throat. The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window were all where they should be, yet the familiar items were gone.
Where was the little jewelry box that had always sat on the nightstand? Where was the embroidered napkin her mother had sewn before Verity was born? Where were the framed photographs?
She rushed to the wardrobe, flung it open. On the top shelf had lain her mothers blue shawl, the one Edward had given her on their anniversary. It was missing.
No, no, no she whispered, her hands shaking as she rifled through the drawers. Her mothers cardigan, the books Verity had cherished, the photo album at the bottomgone.
Everything had vanished.
She bolted into the hallway, burst into the master bedroom. It too was stripped bare: mothers perfume that had once perched on the dressing table, her comb, even the cosmetic bag Verity had never dared discard.
Nothing remained.
What is happening here? she murmured.
The flats front door swung open and voices drifted in.
what a relief, finally getting rid of all that junk, Lucy said. I dont understand why we should keep the deads things. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Youre right, dear, Edward replied. We have to move on.
Verity slipped into the hallway. Edward and Lucy stood by a coat rack, removing outerwear. Lucy turned, a smile blooming as she saw Verity.
Oh, Verity, youre home. Weve been tidying up while you were away.
Where are Mums things? Veritys voice was hoarse.
What things?
All of them! The box, the photos, the books, the clothes! Where is everything?
Lucy sighed as if the matter were trivial.
I took them. Donated some to the church, threw out the rest. Verity, your mother died over a year ago. Its time to let go.
What have you done?! Verity felt the floor drop away. Edward stood silent beside Lucy, eyes fixed on the side.
Dad, did you hear what she said? She threw Mums things away!
Verity, dont shout, Edward finally said. Lucys right. You cant live in the past. Its an unhealthy attachment.
Unhealthy attachment? Verity could not believe her ears. Those were my mothers memories! The only thing I have left!
You still have the memories, Lucy replied gently. Isnt that enough?
Not enough, Verity said firmly. Give them back.
Its impossible now. The containers already gone.
The container?
The skip, Lucy shrugged. It was full of old junktattered dresses, yellowed papers. I kept a few photos; theyre still in the wardrobe.
Verity stepped closer; Lucy instinctively stepped back.
You had no right, Verity whispered.
Im the lady of the house now. I have the full right to decide what stays and what goes.
Youre not the lady! Youre a stranger! Veritys voice cracked into a shout.
Verity! Edward raised his voice for the first time. Apologise at once. Lucy is my wife; you must respect her.
Respect her? The one who threw away everything that reminded me of Mum?
Your mother is dead, Edward said harshly. Shes gone, understand? You need to accept it.
How can you say that? You lived together for thirtyfive years! She gave birth to you! She
Enough, Edward waved his hand. Im tired of this. Tired of your endless hints, your silence, the way you look at Lucy. I have a right to be happy.
At the cost of my mothers memory?
Memory isnt the issue. I love Lucy. I want to live with her. If you cant accept that
He didnt finish, but Verity understood.
Fine, she said. Ill move out.
Verity, wait, Lucy interjected. No one is kicking you out. Lets set some ground rules. This is our home, my fathers home and mine. You can stay, but you must respect our boundaries.
What boundaries? Verity asked, weary.
Dont enter our bedroom, dont touch my things, dont turn the flat into a museum of your mothers life.
Verity looked at Edward, 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. She wanted to cry, but tears wouldnt comeonly a cold, allconsuming void.
Her mothers thingseverything that carried her scent, her presencewere gone. The jewelry box she opened each night for her mothers rings and brooches, the album she leafed through recalling cottage trips, birthday celebrations, Sunday walks in the parkgone, tossed with rubbish.
She rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen. A few pedestrians hurried home, sheltering from the rain under umbrellas. Somewhere, in a landfill, her mothers belongings lay mixed with trash and discarded bags.
A knock sounded at the door.
Verity, may I? her father called.
She didnt answer. The door opened a crack; Edward stepped in.
Love, lets talk.
What about? Verity asked without turning.
Lucy just wants the best for us. Shes only trying to make the house cozier.
By throwing away everything that reminds me of Mum?
Edward sighed.
Verity, I know its hard. It was hard for me too. But life goes on. I met Lucy, and she gave me a chance to feel alive again. Is that wrong?
What about Mum? Have you forgotten her?
No, I remember Natalie, he said, using his late wifes name. Every day we shared. She wont return, and I cant spend the rest of my life in mourning.
Verity turned. Edward looked older, hunched, sixtyfive but somehow younger at the edges. Lucy seemed to have restored some of his vigor.
Dad, Im not against your happiness, she said quietly. But why destroy my mothers memory?
Lucy didnt destroy it. She just cleared the clutter that held us back.
Clutter? Verity snapped. You meant my mothers things.
Exactly, Lucy said, stepping forward. I felt like an intruder in my own house.
This isnt your house, Verity replied. Youre just living in it.
Its my home too, by law, Lucy said. I just want respect.
Do you think marrying my dad makes that easy?
Its not just about marriage, Lucy said. Every day he looks at a portrait of another woman, at dresses in the wardrobe. Im invisible.
Verity sighed. Lucy, I never wanted to be your enemy. Im just hurt that Dad moved on so fast. Thirtyfive years together, and then less than a year after she died.
He didnt forget her, Lucy whispered. He just cant be alone. He needs someone.
And I? Wasnt I there?
Youre his daughter. Thats different.
Verity knew Lucy had a point, but accepting it felt like swallowing a knife.
Okay, she said. Fine. But why throw away everything?
It was a surprise for Dad, Lucy said. He complained the flat was cramped, that we needed to clear out the old stuff. I just helped.
Three photos out of hundreds, Verity muttered.
Lucy leaned back. What do you want from me? An apology? Fine, Im sorry. But I cant return whats already gone.
I know, Verity said, standing. Thanks for the honesty.
Lucy reached for her hand. Are you going back?
I dont know, Verity answered. I need to think.
She left the café and walked the rainslick streets, unsure where to goback to Emma, back home, or nowhere at all.
Her phone buzzed. Honey, please come home. I need to talk, her fathers voice said.
Verity looked at the message and felt a wave of exhaustionof arguments, of pain, of endless inner battles. Maybe it was time to let go, to accept that her mother was gone, that her father could have a new life, that Lucy wasnt responsible for the death.
She typed back, Alright. Ill be there this evening.
Emma opened her flat as soon as Verity arrived, as if expecting her. Youre soaked! Let me get you a towel.
The flat was warm, smelling of fresh baking. A plump orange cat curled on the sofa.
Dry off, Emma said, handing a towel. Tell me what happened.
Verity recounted everything. Emmas face grew pale.
Shes gone completely mad? Emma gasped. Throwing away other peoples things?
She thinks shes the owner, Verity said.
And your dad?
He sidetracked her. Said I should let go of the past.
Emma muttered under her breath. Whats the waste collection called here?
Jolly Services, I think, Verity replied. They took the skip this afternoon.
Emma dialed. After a long hold, a dispatcher answered. Yes, the containers on Oak Street have been emptied. Theyre at the landfill now. Nothing specific can be retrieved.
Emma hung up, looking guilty. Its gone, she said. But you still have the memories. Thats what matters.
Verity whispered, I need to touch something that still smells of her.
I get it, Emma said, hugging her. Youre not alone.
They sat together until the sky turned black. Later, Emma went to the kitchen.
Did you eat today? she asked.
I cant remember, Verity admitted.
Come, Ill make you some tea. Well sort it out tomorrow with a clear head.
That night Verity barely slept, tossing on the foldout couch Emma had set up. The orange cat nestled against her, purring futilely.
In the morning Emma left for work, telling Verity to rest and not think about it.
The phone rang several times that dayEdwards number. Verity let it go to voicemail.
Afternoon: a text from Lucy.
Verity, lets meet and talk. I never meant to hurt you. Can we meet at the café near your house? The one that used to be a bakery.
Six PM, Verity replied.
She waited, wondering what Lucy wantedanother attempt to push her out, or a genuine peace offering?
At six, she arrived. Lucy was already at a table by the window, stirring her coffee nervously.
Thanks for coming, Lucy said, a tentative smile on her lips.
Verity sat opposite, silent. The waitress approached, but Verity declined.
I wont stay long, she said.
Lucy sipped, then set her cup down.
I get that youre angry, she began. But I need you to understand I married your dad, moved into his flat, and all the thingsphotos, dresses, even his late wifes perfumemade me feel like a guest in my own home.
This isnt my home, Verity said calmly. You just live in it.
Im his wife, legally its mine too.
So the flat is the issue?
No! Its respect. I want you to see me as a partner, not as a replacement for your mother.
He married you. Isnt that enough?
Its not enough when he still looks at a portrait of another woman, when her clothes cling to the wardrobe, when his daughter sees me as an enemy.
Verity inhaled. Lucy, I never wanted to be your enemy. It just hurts how quickly dad moved on. Thirtyfive years together, then less than a year after she died.
He didnt forget her, Lucy whispered. He just cant be alone. He needs someone.
And I? Verity asked. Was I not there?
Youre his daughter. Thats a different role.
Verity sensed truth in Lucys words, yet the pain remained raw.
Fine, she said. But why dump everything?
It was a surprise for Dad, Lucy said. He said the flat felt cramped. I helped clear out the old stuff.
The three photos you kept out of hundreds, Verity noted.
Lucy frowned. What do you want? An apology? Im sorry. But I cant bring back whats gone.
I know, Verity said, rising. Thank you for being honest.
Lucy reached out. Are you going back?
I dont know yet. I need time.
Outside, rain intensified. Verity walked quickly, ignoring the water streaming down. Emmas place was a fifteenminuteEmmas place was a fifteenminute walk away, but the weight of the past made each step feel like a mile.
