Alice was 12, Jim was 22, and her mother, Claire, was 32. Yesterday, Jim became Claire’s husband. Today, they shared the news with Alice.
She shut herself in her room and didn’t step out all day. They called for her, Claire came to the door, suggesting they could go to the movies, the amusement park, a local fair, or visit friends. But Alice remained silent, lying on her bed. She cried a bit, then fell asleep, and eventually just stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. By evening, hunger drove her out.
She spent a couple of years getting used to the situation. She met every word from her mother with hostility, her face twisting in disdain seeing them together. She was cheeky, rude, and filled with hatred. Her aunt tried talking to her, but Alice wouldn’t listen. She even considered running away. One day, she did just that, spending the evening seated on the steps of the house next door. Eventually, the cold sent her to her aunt’s place.
When her mother came to pick her up, Alice had already warmed up and had dinner. Claire’s hands trembled, her eyes red from crying. Claire came alone.
They took a taxi home. Alice watched Claire’s profile; Claire seemed old, whereas Jim was strikingly attractive.
That was the first time Jim disappeared for a whole month. Alice never questioned Claire, and Claire said nothing. But things at home felt normal again. It was just Alice and Claire, and their relationship slowly improved. Alice began to find peace.
Then Jim returned to their home. Young, handsome Jim, now a permanent part of their lives.
At 18, Alice, her mother, and Jim sat at the dining table. As she handed him a knife, their fingers touched longer than necessary, and they locked eyes. Claire went pale and bowed her head. The meal concluded in silence.
One day, while Claire was out, Alice approached Jim, pressing her forehead against his back, holding her breath. He froze for a moment before gently moving her away, shaking his head: don’t be foolish, he said.
Alice broke down, screaming, “Why? Why her? She’s an old woman! Can’t you see her neck is full of wrinkles? Why her?”
Jim got her a glass of water, settled her in a chair, covered her with a blanket, and left, firmly shutting the door. Alice sat sobbing, realizing she needed to move out, to find a dorm or a flat. She felt dismissed, humiliated, and cast aside.
Jim was mesmerising in his good looks. He haunted her dreams. He stayed away from home, and Claire remained silent. They drifted around the house like ghosts.
Jim returned after several days. Claire wasn’t there, and Alice was alone. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and taking notes. Jim joined her, and her heart skipped. He sat across from her, looked her in the eyes, and said, “I love your mum, not you. Accept it. Let’s not cross that line again—you’re a mature girl now.” He never broke eye contact.
That night, Alice lay awake with dry eyes and an empty head. The following morning, she saw Jim and her mum kissing in the kitchen. She barely made it to the bathroom before nausea overcame her.
A spot in a student dormitory opened up. Claire asked her to return home, but later helped her with money to rent a flat.
At 25, the dynamics had softened significantly. Alice frequented home, visiting Claire and Jim, sharing meals, and filled with laughter. Her aunt remarked how she had grown up. Claire was joyful and at peace. Jim remained overwhelmingly handsome. Alice caught herself measuring every suitor against him, a thought she found distasteful.
Alice experienced heartbreak with a married man who wouldn’t leave his wife. She lingered outside his workplace, wept, refused to become a “lunchtime wife.” Everything felt bitter and painful. He whisked her off to the seaside, showered her with gifts, confused when she wanted more. Was every relationship meant to lead to marriage? He had already been through the mundane reality of cohabitation. The routine became monotonous despite the love.
Alice wouldn’t agree, stubbornly shaking her head, recalling how Jim kissed her mum in their kitchen. How naïve she had been, not realizing that life together could be beautiful, serene, genuine.
That year was turbulent. She rarely visited home, meeting Claire occasionally at cafes, stopping by briefly. Claire had lost weight, having always been meticulous about her appearance. Jim remained her handsome stepfather, and Alice, matured and wiser, finally understood her mother.
At 28, Alice found a job in a new city and moved, seeking an escape from a toxic past relationship that had consumed nearly three years. She settled in, found peace, and started dating a single, charming colleague. It felt time to marry, have kids, shape her life.
Jim visited on business, and they had lunch together. Their conversation was lighthearted, Alice sharing stories about her new life, asking about Claire. Jim answered. Watching him, she longed for him to embrace her.
He seemed to understand, pausing before finding words, not wanting to upset her. But he did speak. He loved her, this impetuous child, comprehending her angst, disappointments, and desires. They would always remain good friends, and she could count on him.
Both felt awkward. Alice laughed, shaking her head. What was she expecting?
Later, Jim called. Claire wasn’t well, was asking for her. Alice rang Claire immediately, whose voice was tired yet cheerful. Of course, she could visit on the weekend. Claire was eager to see her. Then, unexpectedly, Claire asked if Alice had forgiven her—for Jim. She had noticed Alice’s feelings and regretted the hurt caused.
Jim phoned again. Claire was in the hospital, and Alice needed to come. Her business trip would take two days; she could arrive afterward. Two days were manageable, weren’t they? Yes, manageable, arrive then, they’ll have results and a diagnosis ready.
Alice made it there but not in time. In the hospital corridor, Jim stood, eyes empty, beautiful yet distant. His gaze met hers, heavy with unspoken loss, then turned to the window.
After the funeral, Alice roamed their flat like a ghost, tidying items, re-washing clean dishes, brewing and discarding cups of tea, cleaning windows.
Jim occupied himself with work, coming home late, skipping dinner, quietly retreating to the bedroom.
Once, while he was out, Alice peeked into the room. It still carried the scent of her mother’s perfume and past happiness. Her heart ached seeing her mother’s photos scattered everywhere. She abruptly closed the door.
She realized she never fully grasped Jim and Claire’s bond, and perhaps she never would.
