It was already dark outside, and she’d just finished grading her fifth-grade students’ essays. Twenty-three years of teaching English language arts at the school had taught her to save time, but today her thoughts were scattered and the work dragged on. The soft creaking of the floorboards betrayed her daughter’s presence even before she appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Mom, you promised we’d watch Short Circuit today,” Sophie said, leaning against the doorframe, wearing an old Mickey Mouse T-shirt that Mary had once worn. Her mother had brought it back from a trip to Boston in the 1980s. “Sorry, honey,” Mary said with a guilty smile.
“Come here.” Sophie walked over to her mother and hugged her, inhaling the familiar scent of baby shampoo. Ten years old.
How fast she grows. It seems like only yesterday that Alex was carrying a tiny bundle in her arms at the maternity ward, and now she’s an independent person with her own character and outlook on life. Dad loved that movie, didn’t he? Sophie asked, climbing into her mother’s lap, even though at 10 she was already quite old for that kind of affection.
Yes, Mary glanced involuntarily at the framed photo on the sideboard, inherited from her grandmother. She always said you looked like the girl there, like Ally. And I remember how we watched it together when we went to the cabin, and he barbecued and then sang songs on his guitar.
Sophie spoke calmly, without tears, but Mary felt her daughter’s shoulders tense. It had been three years since Alex hadn’t returned from his business trip. A senseless accident on I-90 from Boston to Chicago cut his life short at age 38, leaving her alone with a 7-year-old daughter, a mortgage, and an old Chevy she was never able to replace with a newer one.
“Let’s put the kettle on and then watch at least part of it,” Mary suggested, trying to distract herself and her daughter from their sad thoughts. “We still have some cookies Grandma baked, remember? The raisin ones?” Sophie perked up. “Exactly,” Mary agreed, turning on the electric kettle, bought with her first paycheck after maternity leave…
She grabbed the cups, not the fancy ones from the set, but the regular ones. While the kettle boiled, Mary watched her daughter arrange the cookies on the plates. Carefully, she tried to choose cookies of the same size.
Just as pedantic as her father. Alex always liked order in everything. “You know, Mom, Emma from class says they have a new dad now and are flying to Florida this summer,” Sophie said suddenly, without taking her eyes off her plate.
Mary froze for a moment, not knowing what to say. They’d talked about new relationships before, but each time she felt uncomfortable, as if she were betraying her husband’s memory. “And what does Emma think of the new dad?” Mary asked cautiously.
“Fine,” Sophie shrugged. “She says he’s fun and buys her a lot of things. And Tim, from the shadow class, says his stepfather is always yelling at him and forcing him to study math…”
Mary sat down next to her daughter and took her hand. “Sophie, you know we get along really well, right? We’re good together.” “I know, Mom,” Sophie suddenly looked at her mother with a serious, not at all childish look. “But sometimes I see you cry at night when you think I’m asleep.”
And I want you to be happy, like Aunt Susan with her new Uncle Nick.” A lump formed in her throat, and Mary tried to discreetly wipe away the tear that had escaped. When had her little girl become so wise?
“Let’s finish watching the robot movie first, and then we’ll tackle these serious issues,” Mary smiled, hugging her daughter. “Besides, we have to get up early tomorrow. You have an English exam, remember?” As they watched the classic film on the worn living room sofa, sipping tea with Grandma’s cookies, Mary reflected on her daughter’s words.
Maybe it’s time to move on. Sophie needs a male role model, both for her and for herself. She probably also needs to learn how to live again.
Alex definitely wouldn’t want her to spend the rest of her life alone, reminiscing. That night, after putting her daughter to bed and kissing her forehead, Mary, for the first time in a long time, thought that maybe her life could change. And that these changes might be for the better.
“Mary Johnson, there’s a man who wants to see you,” said Mrs. Peterson, the school librarian, peeking into the staff room. “He’s very handsome, with flowers.” Mary raised her eyebrows in surprise and put aside the grade book where she recorded the quarterly grades…
For me? Are you sure? “Of course,” the librarian agreed with a slight smile. “He introduced himself as Victor, said you left your gloves on the bus yesterday, and he picked them up.” Mary thought about it.
In fact, she rode the crowded bus yesterday after the parent-teacher conference, and apparently she was carrying the gloves in her hands, not in her bag. Did she drop them? In the aisle, a tall man in a dark gray coat was waiting for her. He looked to be in his forties, with short blond hair and barely noticeable gray features…
He was holding a bouquet of white chrysanthemums and, of course, his leather gloves. “Maria?” he asked with a slight smile.
“Did I understand correctly? Yesterday you were on the number 16 bus, around 5:30 p.m., and you dropped these,” she handed him the gloves. “Yes, they’re mine,” Mary confirmed embarrassedly, taking the gloves. “Thank you for returning them, but…”
How did you know where I work? “There was a transit pass in one of the gloves,” the man explained. “It had your last name and a note about benefits for education workers. I called the education department, told them I’d found some papers, and they told me which school you teach at.”
I hope you don’t consider this an undue intrusion into your private life.” He smiled slightly, fine wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. “Not at all, thank you for the trouble,” Mary replied, feeling her cheeks flush slightly.
“It’s been a long time since anyone has shown this much attention to him. That’s very kind of you.” “And this is for you,” he handed her the bouquet of chrysanthemums.
“A little compensation for the trouble.” “It really wasn’t necessary.” “It was worth it,” she objected gently.
“You know, on the way here, I thought it would be nice to buy you a coffee. As an apology for intruding.” At another time, Mary would probably have politely declined.
But today something prompted her to accept. Perhaps yesterday’s conversation with Sophie, or simply the tiredness of being alone. “Actually, I have an hour before I have to pick up my daughter from music school.”
“Perfect,” Victor said enthusiastically. “I know a great place nearby, in the old Vanderbilt merchant’s mansion. They make amazing coffee and cake, just like the old days, remember?” “I remember,” Mary smiled.
“Angel cake?” “Exactly.” Victor beamed as if they had just discovered an important detail that united them. The café proved to be cozy, with heavy velvet curtains and antique-style copper lamps.
Mary involuntarily recalled how, as a child, her mother would take her to a similar place on special holidays, where they were given cloth napkins and the waitresses wore lace aprons. “Tell me about yourself,” Victor asked when they were brought coffee and two pastries on elegant blue-rimmed china plates. “What else is there to tell?” Mary shrugged.
I’ve been working in the school for over twenty years, in English Language and Literature. My husband died three years ago in a car accident. My 10-year-old daughter, Sophie…
Ordinary life. “There are no ordinary lives in this world,” Victor objected earnestly. “Each one is unique in its own way.”
I’m a widower too; My wife passed away five years ago from cancer. We didn’t have children. I work for a construction company, managing projects.
They talked for almost an hour, and Mary was surprised at how easy it was with this virtual stranger. Victor shared interesting anecdotes. About work, travel, and the books he’d read recently.
No pretenses, no desire to impress. Just a conversation between two adults. When it was time to leave, Victor asked for her phone number.
“If you’ll allow me, I’d like to invite you to the theater next weekend. They’re showing The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, staged by a famous director; they’ve restored the 1970s production.” Mary hesitated, but only for a moment.
Gladly, he answered and dictated the number. All the way to the music school, Mary thought about the strange encounter. Victor seemed trustworthy, intelligent, one of those people they now call “old school.”
He listened attentively, didn’t interrupt, asked questions, genuinely interested in the answers. He smelled of good cologne, and his suit fit perfectly, a rarity these days. Sophie noticed her mother’s change in mood as soon as she entered the music school hallway.
“Mom, why do you have flowers?” she asked, putting her music notebook in her backpack. “A friend gave them to me,” Mary replied, feeling herself blush again like a schoolgirl. “A friend?” Sophie asked suspiciously.
“What kind of friend?” “I’ll tell you everything, but not here,” Mary smiled, hugging her daughter by the shoulders. “Let’s go home, I’ll make you your favorite pancakes, and then we’ll talk.” At home, while preparing the pancake batter, Mary told her daughter the story through her mittens, trying not to exaggerate, but also not to downplay her new acquaintance.
“So you like him?” Sophie asked directly, sitting at the kitchen table, watching her mother. “He seemed…” “Interesting,” Mary replied cautiously.
“But it was just a meeting, and I haven’t met him at all yet. And will you accompany him to the theater?” “Yes, next Saturday. If you don’t mind, of course.”
Sophie thought, biting her lower lip. “Just like Alex when he’s solving a difficult problem.” “I don’t mind,” she finally said…
“But let him come to my house first. I want to see him.” Mary couldn’t help but laugh at such seriousness. “Okay, darling.”
I’ll invite him to tea before the theater, and you can meet him. Sophie nodded as if she’d sealed an important deal, and Mary suddenly thought that perhaps something new, unusual, but perhaps good, was entering her life. And this thought, instead of frightening her, warmed her inside, like a sip of hot tea on a cold winter day.
“And where did you live before, Victor?” Sophie looked at the guest with a direct, scrutinizing gaze, holding a cup of tea as a shield. Mary flinched inwardly at such a question, but Victor didn’t seem embarrassed at all. “In Miami. Then I moved to New York for work, and then here when I was invited to oversee the construction of a new residential complex.”
“So why do you move around all the time?” Sophie persisted. “Sophie.” Mary shot her daughter a warning look.
“Okay,” Victor said, raising his hand in a conciliatory tone. “Good question. You see, Sophie, there’s a saying.”
A bad worker always blames his tools. So I didn’t want to be a bad worker and continued looking for a place where I could fully develop. In Miami, the market for specialists was too large, while in New York…
Too much competition, and here… Here I found the sweet spot.” Besides, he looked at Mary, “sometimes fate brings unexpected gifts.”
Sophie frowned, but didn’t ask any more questions and finished her tea in silence. Victor steered the conversation back to the girl’s schoolwork, asked her about the music she was studying, and, to Mary’s surprise, the conversation melted away completely. When it came time to get ready for the theater, Sophie even seemed a little disappointed…
“Will you manage on your own?” Mary asked, sorting through the contents of her bag. “Tickets, keys, lipstick.” “Sure, Mom, I’m not five,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes.
“I’ll do my homework, then watch the cartoons you allowed me, and then go to bed.” Ten o’clock at the latest, she quoted her mother’s instruction with a certain irony. “And don’t open the door to anyone,” Mary added.
Even though Santa Claus came bearing a bag of gifts, Sophie nodded with a sigh. Victor watched this exchange with a faint smile. “You have a wonderful daughter,” he said as they reached the landing.
“Thank you,” Mary smiled, feeling that special pride that comes when someone praises your daughter. “She’s very observant.” “And vigilant,” Victor added without the slightest hesitation.
“That’s great. It means there’s someone else who cares about you besides me.” His words sounded so natural that Mary didn’t immediately understand them.
“Besides me.” As if he had already taken a place in her life, as if he had already become part of her world. And strangely so.
This thought provoked no protest. The play was magnificent. Mary hadn’t been to the theater in probably four years, since Alex left.
He didn’t particularly like the theater; he preferred movies or concerts, but he always agreed to accompany her. Victor, on the other hand, seemed to genuinely enjoy the production, whispering comments about the wise directorial decisions and quoting entire passages from the play by heart. After the performance, they stopped at a small restaurant near the theater.
Tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, dim lighting, soft music. Everything was reminiscent of the days when going to a restaurant was a prearranged event. “Do you know what caught my attention about you from the first meeting?” Victor asked when their order was brought.
“Steak for him and fried chicken for her, like in old-fashioned American diners. Your smile. That’s it.”
Authentic. These days it’s rare to find people who smile sincerely, without false pretenses. I think you’re exaggerating.” Maria blushed.
“I’m an ordinary woman, like millions.” “No,” she objected firmly. “You are special.”
And it’s not about appearances, although you are very beautiful. It’s about your inner strength. You raise your daughter alone, you study…
And that’s the hardest job: keeping the house in order. And don’t complain, don’t complain like so many. That’s worthy of respect.
Mary felt a heat rise to her cheeks. From the wine, of course, not from Victor’s words. “Tell me about your late wife,” she asked, wanting to divert the conversation.
Victor’s face clouded for a moment. “We were together for fifteen years,” he began. “We met in college.”
Alice was a very talented artist. Her works were even exhibited in small galleries. And then? Then the illness came.
Everything happened so fast we didn’t even have time to realize it. Six months of struggle, and nothing more. She spoke calmly, but Mary saw her fingers tense, gripping the fork.
“Sorry to remind you,” she said softly. “It’s nothing,” she shook her head. “It’s a part of my life I won’t give up.”
I loved Alice, and the time I spent with her was happy. But life goes on, and we must move on. You understand that too, don’t you? Mary nodded.
Yes, she understood. For three years she’d lived like a cocoon, focused only on work and her daughter. But people aren’t made for loneliness, as cliché as it sounds.
Victor took her home in a taxi, even though Mary insisted she could use public transportation. “No way,” he objected. “It’s late, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”
As they entered, he kissed her. Gently, almost weightlessly, as if he was afraid of scaring her. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
Going upstairs, the elevator in her old apartment building wasn’t working again. Mary felt like a child after her first date. The music from the play echoed in her head, and her lips still held the warmth of the kiss. Sophie was already asleep, curled up under the blanket, the palm of her hand pressed against her cheek.
Just like Alex always slept. Mary quietly adjusted the blanket and left the room, careful not to let the floor creak. The following weeks flew by like a mist.
Victor called her every day, inviting her to the movies, to restaurants, or just for a walk. He brought her flowers. Not ordinary roses, but special bouquets, arranged with taste and imagination.
Once, upon learning that Mary had had a particularly difficult day at work, he brought her bags of groceries and made dinner himself. Authentic chili from his grandmother’s recipe and apple pie. Sophie watched the relationship develop with suspicion…
She no longer asked direct questions, but Mary noticed the attention with which her daughter followed Victor’s every gesture, every word, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Don’t you like it?” Mary asked once as she and her daughter were washing the dishes after a dinner party Victor attended. “I don’t know,” Sophie replied truthfully.
“It’s a little… too perfect, like he’s playing a role.” “Not everyone has a character as complex as you or Dad,” Mary smiled.
“Some people are just… calm by nature.” Sophie shrugged and said nothing more, but Mary noticed that her daughter didn’t share her enthusiasm.
However, it was natural. A child needs time to adjust to a new person in their life. And Victor was definitely becoming a new person in her life.
Barely two months after they met, he proposed to Mary. Without any theatrical gestures, simply during dinner at her apartment, after Sophie went to bed. “I know we haven’t known each other for a long time,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes.
But I’m sure of what I feel. You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.
You and Sophie. I don’t intend to take the place of the father in her life, but I want to be her friend, someone she can trust.” Mary hesitated.
Everything was happening too fast, but on the other hand, they weren’t in their 20s anymore to prolong the sweet tooth for years. And Sophie needed a man at home, not only as an example, but as support and protection.
“Mom, why so fast?” Sophie sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the corner of the blanket. Her face, in the lamplight, looked especially… pale. “They don’t know each other so well.”
Mary sat next to her daughter, gently brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Sometimes it doesn’t take long for people to realize they fit together,” she explained soothingly. “Victor and I are adults, we have experience in family life.”
We know what we want. What if he’s not who he says he is? Sophie looked at her mother worriedly. “Remember we watched that show about con men who prey on lonely women?” Mary smiled involuntarily.
Her little protector always thought and worried too much. “Sophie, darling, Victor isn’t a con man. He’s a successful engineer, he has a good job, his own apartment…”
Why would he deceive us? “I don’t know,” Sophie said stubbornly, pursing her lips. “But something about him… isn’t right. I can feel it.”
“It’s just that you haven’t gotten used to him yet,” Mary said confidently, though a doubt crept in. “Could he be in a hurry?” But she immediately dismissed the thought. “Give him a chance, okay? For me!” Sophie sighed, but nodded, albeit halfheartedly.
“Okay, Mom. I’ll try.” They decided to keep the wedding modest, inviting only their closest friends and colleagues.
Victor insisted on a restaurant, the American Grill. It was expensive, but he convinced Mary that such an event only happens once in a lifetime and should be celebrated properly. He added with a smile, “I have some savings and I want to spend them to make you happy.”
On the day of the wedding, Mary felt a strange mix of excitement and anxiety. She didn’t choose a white dress, which seemed inappropriate for a woman of her age and position, but an elegant light beige suit, which she accessorized with a small hat and veil. Like the one her mother wore at her wedding in the 1970s.
“You look beautiful,” said Susan, her college friend, sincerely, as she helped her place a flower in her hair. “Victor is lucky.” “I’m lucky too,” smiled Mary, albeit with a touch of nervousness.
“He’s a wonderful person.” “Reliable,” Susan agreed. “In our time, that’s the main thing.”
Many men are like children: they need nannies, not wives. Mary nodded, remembering how Susan’s first husband spent his entire salary on booze and threw tantrums if dinner wasn’t ready on time. Victor was the opposite.
Calm, loving, always willing to help. The wedding went by like a flash. Mary only remembered isolated moments.
Victor waiting for her at the entrance to the town hall with a bouquet of white lilies. Sophie’s serious face, sitting front row in a new dress. The clinking of glasses in the restaurant and numerous congratulations.
She danced with Victor to an old song, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.” And she also remembered a strange moment during the photo shoot, when something cold and calculating seemed to flash in Victor’s eyes. But it only lasted a split second, and Mary decided it was her imagination.
Just a play of light and shadow. After the wedding, Victor moved into his apartment with Sophie. He suggested selling both apartments and buying a larger one, but Mary didn’t want to leave the neighborhood where Sophie grew up, where her school and friends were.
Besides, the old three-bedroom apartment wasn’t so small for three. The first few weeks of marriage were filled with pleasant chores and discoveries. Mary discovered that Victor cooks meat wonderfully, loves classic American movies, and can fix virtually any appliance.
On weekends, they often went to the cabin. A small plot of land with a wooden house inherited from Mary’s parents. Victor enthusiastically undertook to repair the leaning fence and leaky roof…
“We can make a wonderful place to relax here,” he said, pointing at the land. “The important thing is to put a little effort and soul into it.” Sophie slowly thawed.
Victor didn’t impose his company on her, but he was always willing to help her with homework or take her to music school if Mary had extra lessons. He gave her a tablet for her birthday. It wasn’t the most expensive, but it was exactly what she’d dreamed of, and he patiently explained how to use the different programs.
“Look, everything’s going great,” Mary said once when she and her daughter were alone. “Victor tries to make us feel good.” “Yes, he does,” Sophie said slowly.
But you know, Mom. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, he has that look. As if he’s wearing a mask and a completely different person is hiding underneath.
Sophie. Mary was indignant. “What fantasies?” Victor just thinks: he has a lot of work to do, and he cares…
“And why does he always check your phone when you leave the room?” Sophie asked. “And why does he lock his laptop with a password, and when you approach, he immediately closes it?” “Everyone has the right to their personal space,” Mary replied, though concern crept in again. In fact, she had noticed that Victor sometimes looked at his phone screen when he thought she wasn’t looking.
But isn’t that natural? Feeling a little jealous at the beginning of a relationship is normal. Sophie shook her head, but didn’t argue. Mary saw that her daughter wasn’t convinced, but she attributed it to a child’s natural jealousy toward the new person who has a place in her mother’s heart.
The first alarm bells went off about three months after the wedding. Victor started getting irritated over trivial things. Dinner wasn’t hot enough, Sophie was playing the piano too loudly, the upstairs neighbors were stomping like elephants.
“You’re just tired,” she said, massaging his shoulders. “You have a difficult project now.” “Yeah, probably,” he agreed, relaxing under her hands.
Sorry for the rant. Sometimes it seems like everyone around me is doing everything they can to drive me crazy. Then Mary noticed that some of her things weren’t where she’d left them.
Her favorite scarf, which usually hung on the hook in the hall, was suddenly in the closet. The book she read before bed moved from the nightstand to the shelf. Trivial things, but they caused a strange feeling of disorientation…
“Victor, did you move my things?” she asked him one day. “That’s silly,” he frowned. “Why would I? You just forget.”
Where do you keep your things? It happens to all of us, especially with age. “I’m only 43,” Mary objected, feeling a little offended. “I’m not that old.”
“Sure, dear,” she hugged her conciliatory. “To me, you’re the youngest and most beautiful. I was just joking.”
But Mary wasn’t amused by the joke. One night, coming home from school, she caught Victor sorting through papers in his work folder. “What are you doing?” she asked, frozen in the doorway.
Oh, Mary, he didn’t seem embarrassed at all. He was looking for the insurance policy to see when we renewed it. By the way, I couldn’t find it.
“It’s in the top drawer of the dresser, where it always is,” Mary said slowly. “And these are my work papers; there’s nothing about the insurance in there, is there?”
“Right?” She smiled carelessly.
“Sorry, I got confused.” Her head wasn’t working properly after a full day of meetings. She folded the papers carelessly and put them in the folder, and Mary noticed the documents weren’t in the usual order.
Why did Victor need his work notes? And why didn’t he ask where the insurance was, but instead looked for it himself? She couldn’t sleep for a long time that night, listening to her husband’s steady breathing beside her. Something was subtly changing in their relationship, and Mary couldn’t understand what was happening. Perhaps the honeymoon had just ended and now everyday life, with all its difficulties, was beginning? Sophie has exceptional musical talent, said Mrs. Johnson, the piano teacher.
“I recommend sending her to the state competition for young pianists.” Mary beamed with pride. Sophie had been studying music since she was 7, and Alex always said she had perfect pitch, like her grandmother, who once sang in a folk choir.
That’s great. When’s the competition? In three weeks, at the state center. Of course, she’ll have to practice a lot, maybe take some extra lessons.
And the trip will last two days. Competition, then a winners’ concert. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” came Victor’s voice, who until then had remained silent to one side, examining the diplomas on the walls of the music school…
Mary turned to her husband in surprise. “Why? It’s a great opportunity for Sophie. First, the extra expenses,” Victor said calmly.
Private lessons, hotel accommodations, transportation. Second, Sophie’s school performance has been slipping lately. Remember the C in math this quarter? A C.
“That’s not slipping,” Mary objected. “So Sophie studies well, it’s just that the test was difficult.” “So I’m against it,” Victor said as if the matter were settled.
Mrs. Johnson looked at Victor and Mary in surprise, not understanding why the parents weren’t so enthusiastic about the opportunity to showcase their daughter’s talent. “We’ll think about it,” Mary said hastily, feeling her cheeks burn with discomfort. “I’ll talk to Sophie at home, and… We have nothing to think about,” Victor interrupted.
Sophie is too young for such serious events. Thank you for the offer, but we have to decline. In the car on the way home, Mary couldn’t contain herself.
“Why did you do that without consulting me? Why consult me if it’s obvious?” She didn’t even turn her head, her eyes fixed on the road. Sophie isn’t ready for such stress. “But it’s not for you to decide!” Mary exclaimed.
You’re not even her real father. Victor didn’t move a muscle on his face, only his fingers tightened their grip on the steering wheel. “So that’s it! It means that when you need help with homework or getting to school, I’m good enough for the role of parent, but when it comes to important decisions… Not anymore?” “That’s not what I meant,” Mary tried to compose herself.
Only. We needed to talk it over first, not decide it like this in front of the teacher. I’m just looking after Sophie,” she softened her voice…
Believe me, at her age, it’s more important to study well in regular school than to strive for success in music competitions. Why stress the girl out? But she has talent. All mothers believe their children have talent. There was something akin to condescension in her voice.
Be objective, Mary. Sophie is a capable girl, but she doesn’t aspire to the highest. These words touch my heart.
Mary turned toward the window, feeling tears welling up in her eyes. At home, Victor seemed to have forgotten the fight; he was kind and friendly, helping set the table and telling a funny story from work. But Mary felt tension beneath this ostentatious kindness.
Something had snapped between them. When Sophie went to do her homework in her room, Victor approached Mary on the couch and took her hand. “I’m sorry if I was harsh,” he said softly.
“I’m so worried about Sophie, about you, about our family. I want everything to turn out well.” I know, Mary forced a smile.
“Next time, let’s talk about this in private, okay?” Of course, he kissed her cheek. “Relax?” “Relax,” she agreed, though the inner unease didn’t go away. Later that night, as she put Sophie to bed, Mary decided to tell her daughter about the teacher’s offer.
“Mrs. Johnson thinks you could enter the state competition for young pianists,” she began cautiously, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Really?” Sophie’s eyes lit up. “Mom, that’s great! A real competition! I really want to go!” Dear Mary, she gently stroked her daughter’s head. “I’m afraid not this time.”
“Victor thinks you should focus on your lessons, and in a way, he’s right.” Sophie’s face changed instantly; joy gave way to disappointment, then anger. Of course she’s against it.
She whispered angrily. “He’s always against everything I like.” “Sophie, that’s not true.”
“Yes!” The girl sat up in bed, clenching her fists. Since he showed up, we stopped going to the movies on Saturdays. We stopped going to Aunt Susan’s cabin.
I can’t invite Lisa over anymore because she says it’s too noisy. She’s even banned me from playing the piano after seven because it gives her a headache. Mary listened in surprise to this torrent of complaints.
Had everything changed so much and she hadn’t noticed? “Sophie, Victor is strict, but he cares about us.” “No, Mom,” Sophie suddenly became very serious, grown-up. “He doesn’t care.”
He controls. They’re different things. Dad cared about us, and Victor…” “Controls.”
Mary had no answer. There was some truth in her daughter’s words that she herself was afraid to admit. In recent months, her life had changed.
Victor was slowly taking over every aspect of her existence. From finances to her social circle. “Give him a chance, okay?” Mary finally said…
“It’s just… he’s not used to family life with a child yet. All men are a little. But you understand, they need time.”
Sophie looked at her mother skeptically, but remained silent. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and turned toward the wall. Mary sighed, kissed her daughter on the head, and left the room. Victor waited in the bedroom, flipping through a magazine.
“What did you talk about for so long?” he asked indifferently. “It was just school stuff,” Mary lied, feeling embarrassed by this little lie. “And I read to her a little before bed.”
“You spoil her too much,” Victor commented, putting the magazine aside. “At her age, it’s time for her to read books herself, not listen to bedtime stories.” Mary didn’t argue, although inside she seethed with anger.
How can he judge his relationship with his daughter? What does he know about raising children? That night she couldn’t sleep. She stared at the ceiling, listening to her husband’s breathing. Victor seemed to sleep soundly and peacefully, as if unbothered by doubts or pangs of conscience.
“Maybe Sophie is right?” Mary thought. “Perhaps she’s really trying to control us? Or am I just looking for trouble where there isn’t any?” With these thoughts, she finally fell into a restless sleep, in which she ran down an endless hallway, trying to reach a door, but couldn’t. The following weeks became a real ordeal for Mary.
She began to notice what she had previously ignored or attributed to Victor’s tiredness: his adjustment to his new family life. Victor checked his phone more frequently under various pretexts. Either he needed to call urgently and his phone was dead, or he looked for the plumber’s number that Mary had supposedly saved.
He questioned her about every call, every text. “Who called you while you were in the bathroom?” he asked one night. “Susan,” Mary replied.
“He wanted to know if we were going to his house on Saturday for Nick’s birthday. Why’s he calling so late?” Victor frowned. “It’s almost 10.”
“Victor! It’s just a call from a friend.” Mary couldn’t help herself. “What’s wrong with that?” “Nothing,” he shrugged, but his gaze remained cold.
“I’m just interested in my wife’s life. That’s normal, isn’t it?” Mary felt her anxiety increasing every day. She began to notice that Victor sometimes followed her.
He leaves the house supposedly to go to work, and then sees her car parked near the school. Or he suddenly walks into the store where she’s shopping, claiming it’s a coincidence. Sophie also became withdrawn and tense.
She tried to spend less time at home, staying at school, in music classes, with her friends. And when she was home, she mostly stayed locked in her room. One day, Mary found her daughter’s diary in her backpack…
An ordinary squared notebook, with the inscription “Do Not Open” on the cover. Personal. She wasn’t going to read it; she just happened to find it while taking out textbooks to help with homework.
The notebook fell, opened to a single page, and Mary accidentally caught a few lines. She looked back at Mom with that terrifying look when she thought no one was looking. As if she were something she’d bought.
I’m scared, but Mom doesn’t believe me. What if he does something bad to her? Mary’s heart sank. Is Sophie that afraid of Victor? What if her daughter sees what she’s missing? That same night, she decided to talk to her husband.
“Victor,” he began when they were alone in the room, “I think we need to talk about Sophie.” What’s wrong with her? He looked up from his laptop. Her.
She hasn’t been very happy lately. She’s become withdrawn and anxious. Typical teenage problems, Victor dismissed.
Puberty will be here soon, hormones, all that. She’s only ten, Mary objected. It’s not puberty.
I think so. He hesitated, not daring to say directly that Sophie is afraid of him. What? Victor slammed the laptop shut and looked at her with sudden irritation.
Come on, finish. What about her? She’s having a hard time accepting you, Mary said finally. Maybe we should? I don’t know, try to find common ground, spend more time together.
Victor stared at her for so long and so strangely that Mary shuddered. “So the problem is me?” he said slowly. “I’m a bad stepdad, huh?” “No, of course not,” Mary hastened to assure him.
Children need time to get used to new people in their lives. Or,” he interrupted, his voice taking on a metallic note. “Or the problem is that you let her manipulate you.”
She’s jealous, that’s natural. But indulging her whims means undermining my authority…
They’re not whims, he felt irritation growing inside him. Sophie is an intelligent and sensitive girl. If she feels uncomfortable, there are reasons.
Really? Victor got out of bed with a jerk. “And what reasons do you think? Perhaps you think I’m offending your beloved daughter in some way? Insulting her? Hitting her? No, of course not.” Mary stepped back, surprised by his sudden outburst.
I just want understanding in our family. For everyone to be happy. Victor looked at her for a few seconds, then his face suddenly softened.
He lay back on the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said wearily. “Work is a mess right now, nerves on edge.”
I didn’t mean to get angry. You’re right, I need to pay more attention to Sophie. Maybe take her to that amusement park she mentioned this weekend? Mary felt relieved, though deep down, her worry didn’t go away.
Victor’s mood swings, from anger to remorse, were becoming more frequent and acute.
“Alive?” Susan’s voice sounded anxious even through the speakerphone. “Hasn’t he reappeared?” “No.” Mary shook her head, though her friend couldn’t see her.
Two weeks passed, no sign. I think she realized she was lost and decided to look for easier prey. “Still, be careful,” Susan sighed.
Those people can be vindictive. And your police report? They took it, but without much enthusiasm. Mary grimaced at the memory of the indifferent face of the officer on duty. He said it’s hard to prove without hard evidence.
I stupidly poured the glass with the drink right after Victor left. But the local officer promised to keep an eye on our apartment. Did he change the locks? That same day.
And I added an extra one with a chain. Good. And how is Sophie?” At the mention of her daughter, Mary smiled involuntarily.
Better than expected. You know, she’s very… strong.
An older adult than she is. Sometimes I think she handles this situation better than I do. It was true. After Victor left, Sophie blossomed like…
She smiled again, had energy, and was curious about life. She played the piano for hours again, as if making up for lost time when she was afraid of upsetting her new dad. And two weeks ago, she even attended the state competition for young pianists, where Mrs. Johnson managed to enter her and she won third place. “Children are incredibly resilient,” Susan agreed. “And they have you.”
That’s the main thing. After the conversation, Mary went out onto the balcony to smoke. A bad habit that returned after everything that had happened.
The fourth-floor apartment in the old building overlooked a quiet courtyard surrounded by similar five-story buildings. Down there, under the old poplars, was her childhood. With hopscotch drawn in chalk on the asphalt, swings made from old tires, playing tag until the wee hours, until the mothers started shouting from the balconies, calling the children home.
Now the yard looked different. With a new playground, immaculate benches, and bright flowers in the flowerbeds. But the essence remained the same.
This was her world, her refuge. And she almost lost it because of her insecurity, her fear of loneliness, and her desire to give her daughter a normal family. “Mom, can I go outside and play with Lisa?” Sophie appeared in the balcony doorway, holding her worn Mickey Mouse backpack.
“We want to go to the library and then get some ice cream. I’ll be back at six, I promise.” Mary hesitated for a moment.
A part of her. That part that still wakes up at night from nightmares starring Victor. She wanted to say “no”…
She wanted to keep her daughter close, protected, always within sight. But the other part. The one that remembered the freedom of her own childhood.
She knew you can’t live in fear forever. “Sure, honey,” she smiled. “Just keep your phone on and call if you’re late.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sophie kissed her on the cheek and was about to run, but stopped suddenly. “You know, you’re the best mom in the world.”
“Really.” And with those words, she ran out of the apartment, and Mary stood on the balcony, feeling tears well up in her eyes. But this time not from sadness or fear, but from overflowing love and gratitude.
That night, after Sophie was put to bed, Mary flipped through old photo albums. There she was, very young, a recent college graduate, with a shock of curly hair and a mischievous smile. There was Alex.
Tall, awkward, but so charming, guitar in hand, singing by the campfire at the student retreat where they met. Here’s their wedding. Modest, in an ordinary town hall, but happy, with friends showering them with rice as they left.
Here’s little Sophie in the maternity ward, so small she could fit in her father’s palm. Here’s their family trips, vacations, shared days filled with simple, quiet happiness. Then, photos of just her and Sophie.
After that day, Alex didn’t return from his trip. At first, in these photos, they both looked lost, with forced smiles and sad eyes. But little by little, over time, the smiles became genuine, and their eyes lit up.
There wasn’t a single photo of Victor in these albums. For some reason, he never liked being photographed; he always found an excuse to avoid it. Now Mary understood why.
Fewer traces, less evidence of his existence in their lives. Mary closed the album and went to the window. The nighttime city sparkled with lights, a car honked its horn in the distance, and soft music played in the neighboring apartment.
An old American folk song that her mother loved. Life went on, despite everything. After the story with Victor, Mary learned an important lesson.
She understood that happiness doesn’t lie in fitting into the ideas of a normal family. Happiness lies in being true to oneself, trusting one’s intuition, and, above all, listening to one’s children. Children often see what adults overlook.
Too immersed in their problems and desires, their pure, uncluttered perception can grasp falsehood where an adult sees only charm. Their hearts are more sensitive to danger because they are not burdened by compromise and self-deception.
Almost three months have passed since that Sunday morning when her life could have ended if not for her daughter’s vigilance. Victor disappeared from her life as if he had never existed. Sometimes, at night, Mary still woke up in a cold sweat, hearing his footsteps in the hallway, but they were only echoes of fear slowly dissolving into the darkness.
Sophie received an invitation to a specialized music school, and they were now considering transferring. Mary, for her part, took up a long-abandoned hobby. She drew, enrolled in watercolor courses, and even considered organizing an exhibition of her students’ works at the school…
Life was getting better, slowly but surely. And in this new life, she and Sophie were even closer, bound even more strongly by invisible threads of love and trust. One night, as she put her daughter to bed, Mary sat on the edge of the bed and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
“Sophie, I never told you, but… You saved my life that time at breakfast.” The girl nodded seriously. “I… know, Mom.”
How did you guess? How did you know it was dangerous? Sophie thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I just sensed it.”
She smiled, but her gaze remained cold. “And besides? He never looked at you like Dad. Dad looked at you lovingly, and Victor… as if you were something he wanted to have.”
Mary was amazed at the depth of this observation. “And I didn’t realize it,” she admitted. “I was so caught up in the idea of a new family that I didn’t see the obvious.”
“It’s because you’re so kind, Mom,” Sophie said seriously. “You always see the good in people.” “Is it bad?” “No,” the little girl smiled.
“It’s wonderful. It’s just that sometimes you have to be a little more careful. You know,” Mary took her daughter’s hand, “I think we make a great team…”
You see what I don’t, and I can protect you from everything. “The best team,” Sophie agreed, yawning. “Mom, tell me again how you and Dad met.”
And Mary began to tell the story Sophie had heard dozens of times, but always asked her to repeat. The story of the teachers’ retreat, the guitar by the campfire, the tall, awkward boy who couldn’t take his eyes off her, the first kiss under the starry sky. And then Dad said:
“I’ll love you forever,” Sophie whispered, closing her eyes. Yes, Mary smiled at the memory. And she wasn’t lying.
She loved us all her life. And she still loves us, Sophie murmured sleepily. I know it.
She watches us from above and smiles. Of course she does. Mary kissed her daughter on the forehead. Sleep, my child.
Tomorrow is a new day. When Sophie’s breathing became regular and deep, Mary quietly left the room, leaving the door ajar. As she always had since her daughter was a baby.
I went to the kitchen, made tea, and settled down with a cup by the window. Outside, a soft spring snow was falling. The last of this season; tomorrow it would melt under the rays of the April sun…
But today it covered the city with a blanket of white, as if giving her the chance to start over, from scratch. Mary thought about how amazingly organized life is. With its twists and turns, lessons and trials.
About how close she came to the abyss and the miracle that saved her. Not for an external hero, but for her own daughter, the daughter they had with Alex, flesh and blood. Motherly love.
The strongest feeling in the world, Mary thought. But the love of children, the devotion of children. No less powerful.
This invisible bridge between two hearts that neither time, nor distance, nor even death can destroy. She didn’t know if she would ever find a man to share her life with. Maybe she would.
Maybe not. But now she knew for sure. She and Sophie would make it, no matter what…
Because together they are a true family, strong and unbreakable. And the rest will come.
Mary finished her tea, washed her cup, and went to her room. Before going to sleep, as always, she went to check on her daughter. Sophie was sleeping with her arms open and a slight smile on her lips.
Above her bed hung a drawing she recently made in art class: three figures holding hands. A woman, a girl, and a man with a halo over his head, floating above the floor. “That’s us with you, Mom,” Sophie explained then.
And that’s Dad, who is always with us, even if we can’t see him. Mary adjusted the blanket, leaned down, and gently kissed her daughter on the head. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.
I’ll always be with you too, no matter what. I promise. And with this thought, he returned to his room, lay down, and for the first time in a long time, fell asleep without fear, with a feeling of peace and confidence in the future.
The post “Mom, don’t drink from that glass!” The new dad put something in it. Mary was sh0cked to hear these words from her daughter and decided to change the glass. What she saw made her hair stand on end… appeared first on Timeless Life.
