Maria POV:
I sat at my desk, staring at the blank page on my laptop screen.
'Come on, brain, give me something, anything.'
I tapped my fingers against the keyboard, willing the story in my head to take shape. Then it clicked, I was halfway typing a sentence when when I heard my father call from downstairs.
"Maria, come meet someone!"
I paused.
'He sounds too cheerful. He hasn't sounded like that since mom died.'
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment longer before I sighed, pushing back my chair. I grabbed the sweater draped over the back of it, pulling it around my shoulders as I stepped into the hallway.
The voices downstairs grew louder as I descended. My father's laughter and an unfamiliar voice.
When I reached the landing, I paused.
My father stood in the living room, his posture straighter than usual, his shoulders pulled back in an almost rehearsed display of confidence. Beside him was a woman.
She was tall, her blonde hair styled in soft waves that cascaded over her shoulders. Her cream-colored dress clung to her frame, every line and detail tailored to perfection. She turned slightly as I stepped towards them, her eyes meeting mine with a warm smile.
"Ah, Maria, you're here" My father said with a warm smile. "This is Ophelia," he continued, his hand resting lightly on her arm. "She'll be your new mother."
The word 'Mother' hit me like ice water. My chest tightened, for a second it felt like I couldn't breath before I forced myself to inhale.
She stepped forward. "Maria," she said, her voice soft and melodic. She extended a hand towards me. "It's so nice to finally meet you."
"New mother?" I repeated, staring at her crimson nails.
"Yes," My father said, his tone firmer, like he was bracing himself. "Ophelia and I… we've decided to move forward."
I turned my attention to him, my jaw tightening. "Move forward?"
His gaze slightly faltered, just slightly, but he held his ground. "It's been a year, Maria. We can't stuck in the past."
I clenched my fists, was he really saying that?
"A year," I repeated, the words heavy with bitterness. "It hasn't even been a year, and you've already replaced mum?"
"Maria," he warned, his tone low but sharp.
Ophelia's hand fell back to her side. Her smile didn't fade but something about her shifted.
"I understand this is difficult for you," she said, her voice calm. "But I hope, in time, we can build something together."
I stared at her, the words hollow in my ears.
"There will never be a we," I said, my voice trembling as I turned back to my father. "You've forgotten her. That's what this is about."
"That's enough," he snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. "Ophelia is part of the family, whether you like it or not."
The silence that followed was deafening. My throat tightened, my breath uneven as I turned on my heel and walked away.
In my room, the door clicked shut behind me, muffling the faint hum of conversation that still drifted upstairs. I leaned back against the door, the cool surface comforted me for a moment as I closed my eyes.
My heart pounded, each beat heavy. My hands curled into fists at my sides, the fabric of my sweater twisting under my fingers.
The photo on my desk caught my eye. My mother, her smile warm, her arm wrapped around me. I picked it up, holding it tightly, tracing the edges of the frame.
Hot tears blurred my vision, rolling down my cheeks. My grip on the photo tightened as I sank to the floor.
"I won't forget you," I said softly, my voice breaking. "I won't let them erase you."