**Diary Entry 12th May**
My fathers second wife arrived one day with a large box of sweets and two small poodles wagging their tails excitedly. My sister and I stood frozen in fear. Wed heard too many stories about wicked stepmotherscold, harsh, heartlessand fear kept us silent.
But she didnt take it to heart. She simply smileda gentle, quiet smile she must have carried all her life. She was a lovely woman with dark hair and kind eyes. My father introduced her without warmth: “This is your new mother.”
I was too young to understand how clumsy and painful that must have felt for her. We greeted her with icy silence.
The wedding was a quiet affair at the town hall. Soon after, she moved ininto a house still draped in griefs shadow. Wed grown used to the darkness.
On her first day, she flung open every window, let the sunlight flood in, and turned on the radio. I remember my sisters irritated facethe sudden brightness and music shattering our quiet like a dropped glove.
She cleaned tenderly, as if scrubbing away sorrow itself. When she lifted our mothers portrait, I held my breath, certain shed take it down. Instead, she dusted it off and placed it right in the centre of the wall.
That was the moment I began to accept her.
In the kitchen, she was like a witch with a spellbook. She made dishes wed never tasted beforethats how she won our fathers heart, and eventually, ours.
A year passed. The house felt lighter. The grief was still there, but it hurt less. Mums photo still hung in the parlour, though now with fondness instead of pain. We never called her “Mum,” and she never asked us to.
She earned our trust through patience. She guided us, shielded us, and covered for us when we were in trouble.
Then came the day Dad didnt return from work.
At first, she stayed calm, but after endless phone calls, the news came: his car had been found at the bottom of a cliff. Hed died on impact. It was the second death of my childhoodthe day we learned nothing lasts forever.
After the funeral, we feared shed leave us, but she stayed. If anything, she grew stronger. She worked part-time at a pub and spent the rest of her time on uswalks, music, laughter, dancing with the dogs.
We watched her from a distance, but she never faltered.
One morning, I asked where my football was. She found it straight away and handed it to me with a smile.
“If you dont want to play alone, Ill join you,” she said.
“Alright,” I replied.
She went barefoot into the garden, laughing like a child as the dogs chased her. That was the day I truly began to love her.
My sister noticed, and slowly, she opened up too.
By years end, shed become the heart of our home.
When I finished school, I never imagined Id afford university. But shed secretly saved and already enrolled me. I cried when I found out.
My sister became a nurse.
She wasnt our mother by blood, but she stayed. She became the mother we never expected.
Years passed. I became a solicitor and stayed close to her.
She fell ill when I turned thirty-three. I returned to care for her. She knew time was short, but she smiled anyway.
“Promise me youll laugh,” she said. “No tears.”
One summer Monday, we buried her beneath the trees. She hadnt wanted to lie beside Dad.
“That spots for your mother,” shed told us.
Now we visit all three.
Red roses for Mum.
Jokes for Dad, who loved to laugh.
And sweets for herjust as she asked.
Not every second chance turns out well.
But sometimes, someone special walks into your life
And stays forever
Even when theyre gone.
