1 Rejecting the Stepmother

The large house stood majestically on the outskirts of town, with a lush garden and brick walls that held years of secrets.

For Leon, the house was more than just a place to live—it was a museum of memories. Every corner, every piece of furniture, reminded him of Melinda, his mother who had passed away five years ago from aggressive cancer. Melinda, who always laughed cheerfully while cooking in the kitchen, who read stories before bed in Leon's room, who planted roses in the back garden. Now, all of that was threatened by the presence of a stranger: Sonya.

Leon, a 20-year-old young man, sat in his room with red eyes. His black hair was messy, and his athletic body—the result of basketball training at college—looked stiff with unrelenting anger.

His father, Gito, 49, had just returned from his honeymoon in Bali with Sonya, a 27-year-old woman who was now his stepmother. Their wedding? Leon didn't even want to attend. For him, it was like a betrayal of his mother.

"This house does belong to my father," Leon muttered to himself, staring at the family photo on the bedside table. "But the memories here are mine. Mine and Mum's." 

*** 

Gito, a successful businessman who was always busy with his property business, tried to bridge the gap. Every night, he would sit in the living room and talk to Leon in a soft but firm voice. "Leon, Sonya is not a replacement for your mother. She is part of our family now. Try to accept her."

Leon just shook his head, his eyes full of hatred. "I don't need a new family member, sir. Mother is enough."

Sonya, with her long wavy hair and warm smile, tried her best. Even though the house was served by three loyal maids, Sonya chose to cook herself.

She knew from Gito that Leon's favourite food was special fried rice with fried eggs and crackers. Every morning, she woke up early, put on an apron, and cooked carefully. "This is for you, Leon," she said one morning, serving a warm plate at the dining table. 

But Leon? He didn't even touch it. Coldly, he took the plate and threw the contents into the bin, right in front of Sonya. "I'm not hungry," he said briefly, then left. 

Gito watched all this with a heavy heart. 

One night, after an awkward dinner, he pulled Sonya into their room. "Honey, I know this is difficult. But try to persuade Leon as gently as possible. He's a good boy, it's just... he's still hurting from losing his mother." 

Sonya nodded, her eyes full of determination. "I'll try, dear. I don't want this house to be a battlefield." 

*** 

The next morning, Sonya waited for the right moment. Leon had just returned from college, slamming the front door loudly. He walked into the kitchen, looking for a snack, when Sonya appeared from behind the door. She was wearing a simple light blue dress, which made her look younger than her age—more like an older sister than a stepmother.

"Leon," she called softly, her voice almost like a whisper of the wind. "Can we talk for a moment? Just a moment."

Leon stopped, his hand still holding the glass of water. He turned, his expression cold. "Talk about what? I'm tired."

Sonya approached slowly, not forcing herself. "I know you don't like me here. I understand that. But... I don't want to be your enemy. I just want us to live peacefully in this house. Your father loves you very much, and I... I want to get to know you better." 

Leon laughed cynically, putting down his glass roughly. "Get to know you better? You think cooking fried rice can replace my mother? You're just... just a temporary replacement for my father. Don't get too close!" 

Sonya swallowed hard, but she didn't back down. Her eyes were teary, but her voice remained calm. "I never said I was a replacement for your mother, Leon. Melinda... from your father's stories, she was an extraordinary woman. I respect that. But this house is big, and the human heart can also be big. Give me a chance. Maybe we can start with dinner together? I can cook something new, or we can order out."

"I don't want to!" Leon immediately left.

Leon walked heavily to his room, closing the door slowly but firmly. The dim light from the table lamp illuminated the room, which was still full of mementos: a basketball poster on the wall, an old photo of him and his mother at the beach, and a pile of untouched college books.

His chest felt tight, a mixture of anger and confusion after his brief encounter with Sonya in the kitchen. "Why doesn't she just give up?" he muttered, throwing himself onto the bed. His mobile phone vibrated in his trouser pocket—a message from Andra, his college friend who always had crazy ideas.

Leon opened the chat app, his eyes narrowing as he read the incoming message: "Bro, how's it going today? Still at war with your new 'stepmother'?" 

With fingers trembling with emotion, Leon replied: "It's terrible, Dra. She's getting more and more persistent. She cooks for me, tries to strike up conversations. My dad told her to persuade me, he said. I can't get rid of her from this house. This house is full of memories of Mum, you know? If she stays here, I'll go crazy." 

Andra, known as the mischievous young man on campus, replied quickly: "Haha, bro, you need a strategy. You have to make her feel uncomfortable. My idea: just harass her. I mean, not excessively, but enough to make her angry and run away. A girl her age definitely can't stand being harassed by a stepchild. She'll report it to your father, but if you're smart, she'll be the one who looks bad. She'll definitely move out."

Leon stared at his phone screen, his heart pounding. The idea sounded crazy, but also... tempting. "Tease her? Are you serious? I'm not that kind of person, Dra. What if she finds out?"

Andra replied with a laughing emoji: "Seriously, bro. You're a homebody, your father would definitely believe you over a new girl. Just tease her a little, make her angry. If she gets really angry, she'll leave on her own. Right? Think about it, this is your house, your memories. Don't let her ruin everything."

Leon put down his phone and stared at the ceiling. He was very hesitant—he wasn't a bad person, just a wounded child. But the image of Sonya constantly appearing in this house, replacing the space that used to belong to his mother, made his anger burn.

"Maybe... I'll just try," he whispered to himself. "If it doesn't work, I'll stop." He replied to Andra: "Okay, I'll think about it. Thanks for the idea, bro." Then, he turned off his phone and tried to sleep. But that night, his mind kept racing.

Time passed until midnight. The big house was silent, only the sound of the night wind creeping through the open window.

Gito, Leon's father, was fast asleep in the master bedroom on the first floor. That day he had been busy all day at the office, meeting after meeting about a new property project, until his body was exhausted and he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sonya, on the other hand, woke up thirsty. She glanced at the clock on the wall—it was 1:00 a.m. Carefully, she got out of bed and put on a thin white kimono over her silk pyjamas. She left her long hair loose, and her bare feet touched the cold marble floor as she left the room.

Sonya walked slowly to the kitchen, passing through the dark living room. Moonlight seeped through the large windows, illuminating the luxurious furniture that Gito had bought years ago.

She opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of mineral water, and poured it into a glass. That was when her eyes caught a shadow on the second floor.

From the bottom of the stairs, she saw Leon standing near his bedroom door, his body leaning against the wall, as if waiting for something.

Leon, who was actually awake because he was restless, saw Sonya below. His eyes narrowed, Andra's idea echoing in his mind again. He wanted to carry out that crazy idea. He gave a subtle signal with his hand—as if pointing to his mouth, like a thirsty person asking for a drink.

Sonya frowned, but her soft heart reacted immediately. "Leon? You're not asleep yet?" she murmured softly, not wanting to wake Gito.

She poured water into another glass, thinking this was a good opportunity to get closer. "Maybe he's thirsty," she thought. With the glass in her hand, she climbed the stairs slowly, her steps careful so as not to creak.