She was 12, he was 22, and her mum was 32. Yesterday, he became her mother’s husband. They told her today.
The girl locked herself in her room and didn’t come out all day. They called for her, her mum knocked on the door, suggesting they go to the cinema, the amusement park, or visit friends. The girl remained silent. She lay on her sofa, first crying, then falling asleep, and then staring at the ceiling in thought. By evening, hunger got the better of her, and she emerged from her room.
She spent a couple of years adjusting, receiving her mother’s words with hostility. She sneered, watching them together, and responded brashly, filled with resentment. Her mother’s younger sister tried to talk to her. She was unyielding. Pondered running away, and one day, she did. She spent the evening crouched in the stairwell of a neighboring house, but the chill drove her to her aunt.
By the time her mum arrived to collect her, she was warm and had eaten. Her mother’s hands shook slightly, and her eyes were red from crying. Her mum came alone.
They took a taxi home. She watched her mother in profile. Mum seemed old, but he looked handsome. He then disappeared for a month. The girl didn’t ask her mother about it. Her mum said nothing. But the house was peaceful again. Just her and her mum. Their relationship slowly thawed, and she found peace.
Eventually, he returned, her mum’s young husband. The girl reconciled herself to his permanent presence in their lives.
When she was 18, he was 28, and her mum was 38. One day, during dinner, she handed him a knife across the table and deliberately held onto it a moment longer, their eyes locking. Her mother paled and looked down. They finished eating in silence.
Later, when her mum was out, she approached him, leaned her forehead against his back, and held her breath. He froze, then gently moved her back and asked her to stop being silly.
She burst into a fit of frustration. “Why, why, why?! What do you see in her? She’s old! Her neck is full of wrinkles, can’t you see? Why would you want her?!”
He brought her water, sat her down, covered her with a blanket, and left, slamming the door. She sat in tears, realizing it was time to move to a dorm or get her place. She felt discarded, disregarded, and humiliated.
He was handsome, appeared in her dreams. He didn’t come home, and her mum remained silent. They wandered through the house like shadows.
He came back after a few days. Her mother was out; she was alone again, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea and her notes.
He sat across from her, looked into her eyes, and sighed wearily: “I love your mum, accept that. Not you, your mum. Let’s not revisit this and distress each other. You’re a big girl.”
He didn’t break eye contact while speaking.
The big girl lay awake all night with dry eyes and a blank mind, and in the morning, she found him and her mother in the kitchen. They were kissing. She barely made it to the bathroom before retching.
A spot opened up in the dorms. Her mum asked her to return. A bit later, her mum gave her money to get a flat.
At 25, he was 35, her mum 45. Oddly, things nearly settled. She visited them, ate together, chatted, and laughed. Her mother’s sister once remarked, “Thank goodness you’ve grown up.”
Her mum was happy, relaxed, and he remained handsome. No, he was striking. Too much so. She caught herself comparing him with every suitor. She disliked this realization.
Then she experienced an unrequited love—hopeless and bitter. He was married and had no plans to leave. Yet she loved him, waiting outside his workplace, crying. She didn’t want to be a ‘lunchtime wife.’ Everything was bitter, broken, and painful. He took her to the seaside, gifted her, perplexed why it wasn’t enough. Was it necessary to formalize everything with a wedding veil? Toothbrushes in a cup had no appeal to him. He’d been there. Even the greatest love becomes mundane with shared chores and daily encounters.
She shook her head stubbornly, recalling how her mother’s husband kissed her in the kitchen. Like a fool, she would run to the bathroom, overcome with disgust. How did she not realize life together could be different? Beautiful. Peaceful. Real.
That year was tumultuous. She rarely came home. They met in a café a few times. Her mum lost some weight, having always cared meticulously for herself. Her mum still had her handsome husband, and she, now mature and understanding, truly saw her mum.
At 28, he 38, and her mum 48, she accepted a job in another city. Or rather, she sought work in another city. Fleeing an old relationship that had stolen nearly three years of her life.
She settled in. Stabilized. Even started a relationship with a single, charming colleague. It seemed time to marry, have children, and make something of her life.
Her mother’s husband visited for work. They went for a meal. It was light-hearted and fun. She detailed her new life, asked about work, and her mum. He responded in kind. When she looked at his hands, she felt a strong desire for him to embrace her.
It seemed he understood. He hesitated, searching for words, afraid of offending. But spoke: “I adore your mischievous little self. I know your pain, your desires, but we’ll always be friends, and you can rely on me.”
Both felt awkward. She laughed it off: “What was I even thinking?”
Then he called her, saying her mum was unwell and wanted to see her. She rang her mum immediately; her voice was tired but cheerful. “Yes, my darling, come visit on the weekend. No, not this one, handle your errands. The next one then, I’d love to see you. I’ve missed you terribly. Have you forgiven me?” her mum suddenly asked. “For him? You liked him, I saw it. And I regretted it a hundred times. Please forgive me. Hurting you wasn’t what I intended…”
He called again, her mother was in the hospital, and she needed to come. “Two more days of work, then I’ll be there. That’s not long, right?” she asked. “No, not long, come; test results and a diagnosis will be ready.”
She arrived too late to see her mum. He stood in the hospital corridor, eyes vacant, handsome yet bleak. He looked at her heavily and turned to the window.
After the funeral, she wandered the flat like a ghost. Moving items, rewashed clean dishes, repeatedly brewed and discarded tea, and cleaned windows.
He distracted himself, too, returning late and creeping quietly to bed without eating. Once, while he was out, she peeked into the bedroom. It smelled of her mother’s perfume and past happiness. Her heart ached at the sight of her mum’s photos on the dresser, the wall, the bedspread… She shut the door firmly.
It hit her that she never understood their bond, realizing she never would.
