A new Beginning

In a way, I killed my mother. I fell hopelessly in love with my stepfather and stepbrother. It wasn’t something I was proud of, but temptation got the better of me, and I gave in. When my mum found out about the affair, the shock was too much for her—she had a heart attack and died right in front of me.

I know everyone will blame me, but deep down, I don’t believe it was entirely my fault. I was trapped in something I couldn’t control.

My life had already been broken once before, on the eve of my birthday, April 14th, when I lost my father in a terrible car accident. I was only ten years old, and from that moment on, everything seemed to fall apart.

I still remember that night like it was yesterday. I was in the living room, waiting for my father to come home with my birthday gift. Every year he brought me something special, and I was excited to see what it would be this time. But the hours passed, and by 11:00 p.m., he still hadn’t returned.

My mother paced back and forth in the dining room, her face filled with worry. She kept calling his phone, but it wouldn’t go through. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the fear in her eyes, but now I know she already sensed something was wrong.

Outside, the sky roared. Rain poured heavily, thunder shook the house. It felt as if the world itself was restless.

Then came a knock at the door. My heart jumped—I thought it was him.

"Ariana, go check if it's your father." My mum commanded

I ran to open it, only to find Mr. Fred standing there, my father's best friend. He was soaked from the rain, beside him was Robin, his son, looking pale and broken.

“Mr. Fred?” I called out, my small voice full of hope. “Are you here for my birthday party too?”

He bent down, forcing a weak smile. “Happy birthday, Ariana,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

My mother appeared behind me, her eyes searching the doorway for my father. But there was no one else.

“Have you heard from your friend?” she asked quickly, her voice tight with worry.

“Mary.” Mr. Fred called out softly, “please let us in. There’s something I need to tell you.”

She led him to the dining room, leaving Robin to stay with me. But I couldn’t take my eyes off them. A moment later, I heard it—my mother’s cry. A cry so deep and painful it tore through me.

I tried to run to her, but Robin held me back. His grip tight around mine, his eyes filled with tears. He already knew.

“What’s wrong, Robin? Why is my mum crying?” I asked.

He stayed quiet at first. Then, with a trembling voice, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry for what? Did you do something wrong?” My chest tightened, my heart racing faster and faster. “Why are you sorry, Robin? What are you sorry for?” I begged.

Finally, his words came, heavy and slow. “Your father… he had an accident on his way home from work.” Robin Confessed.

What was I supposed to do with that information? I drifted back from Robin, the room tilting. Don't believe it. Don't. Desperately trying to reject what he had just said. Hot tears poured down my cheeks, unchecked.

"Where is my father?" I asked, the question hollow and rhetorical. Robin tried to pull me into a hug, to console me, but I pushed him away violently. Instead, I ran to my mum, my voice cracking. "Where's Daddy? Please, tell me it's not true!" I cried.

My heartbeat raced faster than usual. “I want to see Daddy, please.”

Even on that cold, rainy, thunderous night, hot shivers ran through me. I was trembling inside, unable to shake off the thought that I might never see my father again. Clinging tightly to my mother, I hugged her as if letting go would make the nightmare real.

Mr. Fred and Robin stood by, watching us mourn in silence. When the rain eased, they offered their sympathies and left.

A month later, news reached us—Mr. Fred had lost his wife to a terminal illness. We went to his home to console him, never knowing it would be the last time I would see or hear from him. That was eight years ago.

What I didn’t know was that my mother had kept in touch with her late husband’s best friend all this time—let alone that she had agreed to marry him.

"What did you just say? Of all people, Mum—it has to be Mr. Fred?" I shouted across the dinner table. The food lay untouched, growing cold, while the room grew heavy with tension.

She moved closer, her voice calm and soft, her touch warm and comforting. Maybe it wasn’t marriage itself that made me angry. Maybe I was furious at her choice of man. Or maybe I was selfishly hurt by the thought of sharing my mother after all these years of having her to myself.

"I don’t want to lose you," I whispered, my voice trembling, eyes glistening with tears. "I don’t want to share you with anyone, Mum. I know I haven’t been the best daughter, but I promise I’ll change. Please, don’t do this."

"It’s not about you, my dark daughter," she replied gently. "For the first time in eight years, I feel alive again. I feel as though the world is coming together for me. Ariana, you know no one could ever replace you in my heart—not even Mr. Fred. But I need someone by my side. One day, you’ll leave me to build your own life, and I’ll be left alone. With Mr. Fred, I won’t have to face that loneliness."

And though her words pierced me, I knew she was right. I couldn’t be with her forever.

"Do you love him?" I asked.

She let out a soft smile, almost shy, like a teenager falling in love for the very first time.

"I love him, Ariana," she admitted.

"More than Father?" I asked. I knew it was unfair, maybe even cruel, but I had to hear it. Maybe I just needed to remind her that no one could take my father’s place.

"That’s not fair," she whispered, her expression tightening. "I mourned your father for eight long years—eight years. What makes—"

"It’s fine," I cut in sharply.

If she truly loved Mr. Fred more, I didn’t want to know. That truth was too heavy to carry.

Dinner ended in silence. My mother busied herself with the dishes, while I slipped upstairs to my room. I opened my laptop, plugged in my headset, and searched for a movie—anything to drown out the storm inside me, anything to push away what had just unfolded.

But before I could escape, a notification flashed across the screen. It was an admission letter from the university I had applied to—State University of New York (SUNY). The very school my mother insisted I attend because it was close to home. Ever since my father’s death, she had been overly protective, hardly letting me out of her sight. In the end, she had even used emotional blackmail to make me apply.

Maybe I should be relieved. If I stayed away from home, I wouldn’t have to see much of my stepfather once they married. But somehow, fate always had its way of frustrating my life.

The next day, I told my mum about my admission. She congratulated me warmly, then mentioned that Mr. Fred and Robin would be joining us for dinner later that night.

"That’s okay," I replied, pretending not to care, though inside I was anything but calm.

When evening came, I slipped into something simple and went downstairs to help her prepare before the guests arrived. But what I found stopped me in my tracks.

"Who is this?" I teased, grinning. "You look stunning, Mum."

"Thank you," she said with a soft smile as she placed the last dishes on the table.

"Mr. Fred is going to fall for you even harder tonight," I told her playfully. "You’ve outdone yourself. He’d better not break your heart, or he’ll have me to deal with." I laughed, but I meant every word.

Before we could share another moment, a knock echoed at the door. I stayed by the dining table while my mum hurried to answer it. Mr. Fred stepped in, with Robin by his side—he had to be twenty now. My mum and Mr. Fred embraced, their kiss stretching on and on.

"Get a room, you two," Robin muttered, his voice echoing with playful disgust. I smiled as he walked over and wrapped me in a warm hug.

When I finally dared to look at Mr. Fred again, I understood why my mother had chosen him. He was… stunning. Time had only refined him. His chest peeked through the slightly open collar of a fitted white T-shirt that clung to his muscular frame, revealing the faint outline of his abs. His brown hair fell forward in soft, punk-like curls, effortlessly careless yet perfectly handsome. He looked every bit the man women dreamed of. My dream, though I’d never admit it.

A sharp snap of my mother’s fingers jolted me back to reality. I quickly sat beside Robin. He resembled his father in almost every way, but my eyes didn’t linger on him the same way. Still, in the middle of our conversation, his hand brushed against mine—and stayed there. It wasn’t an accident. When I looked up, he winked.