As a stepmother, I knew that blending into a family that had experienced loss would be challenging. Ben’s late wife, Irene, was his soulmate, and their son Lucas was his everything. My role was to help create a new beginning, not erase the memories of the past. At first, everything seemed to be going well – Lucas welcomed me with open arms and called me “Mom”, filling our days with laughter and love. But one night, as I was tucking him into bed, he whispered to me with a serious look on his face, “My real mom is still here.” I laughed it off, thinking it was just a child’s imagination, but deep down, I couldn’t shake off the unease that crept in.
Soon, strange occurrences started happening in our home. Toys that I had put away would mysteriously reappear in their old spots, kitchen cabinets would be rearranged, and Irene’s photo, which I had discreetly moved, would somehow find its way back to the living room. Ben would brush off my concerns with a laugh, but I could see the worry in his eyes.
One evening, as Lucas and I were working on a puzzle, he suddenly said, “Mom says you shouldn’t move her things.” My heart sank as I asked him gently, “What do you mean, sweetie?” He then whispered, “Real Mom. She gets upset when you change things.” His words chilled me to the bone.