FRAGMENTS OF HOME

Chapter 27

Lena.

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the quiet house. Lena had barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blank expressions on Helene’s and Julian’s faces when they had looked at her in the hospital. Seven months. That was how long they had been a family.

Seven months of shared dinners, awkward first holidays, and slow-building trust. Now those months had been erased from their minds.

After washing her face, Lena headed downstairs. The house felt too quiet. She found Oliver already in the kitchen, carefully pouring orange juice with one hand while the other stayed supported by his sling. The bruises on his face were fading, but the exhaustion in his eyes remained.

“You should still be resting,” Lena said.

Oliver gave a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. You look like you didn’t sleep.”

She shrugged and opened a cupboard. “I haven’t.”

Oliver watched her for a moment. “You’re thinking about how to make them remember the last seven months.”

“I’m thinking about how to make them remember us,” Lena replied quietly. “We only became a family seven months ago. If those memories stay gone… then what are we?”

Oliver sighed. “The doctor said not to push too hard.”

“I’m not going to force them. I just don’t want to keep being a stranger in my own house.”

Footsteps approached. Helene entered first, wearing one of the spare robes Lena had left outside the guest room. Julian followed carefully, still moving slowly because of his ribs. Both of them looked uncertain, like guests who weren’t sure they belonged.

“Good morning,” Helen said politely.

Lena forced a small smile. “Good morning… Helen.”

Helen blinked at the formal use of her name, then returned the smile. She still wasn’t used to this house or the people in it.

“I hope we didn’t oversleep,” Julian added.

“Not at all. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Lena took eggs, bread and vegetables from the fridge. As she started preparing everything, Helen stepped forward.

“Can I help?”

Lena looked at her hopefully. “You always did. Even after you and Julian got married, you still made breakfast with me most mornings.”

Helen laughed awkwardly. “The problem is… I don’t remember any of that.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Lena handed her a bowl and some vegetables. Helen stared at them for a second, then picked up the knife.

For a moment she looked completely unsure. Then, almost without thinking, her hands began moving naturally, slicing the vegetables into neat pieces.

Lena froze.

“So I really do cook.”

“You and I used to cook together almost every weekend after you married Julian,” Lena said, trying to keep her voice steady. “It was one of the first things that made this house feel like ours.”

Helen looked down at the chopping board, surprised by how natural the motion had felt.

“I didn’t even think about it.”

Oliver caught Lena’s eye and gave a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

They sat together around the dining table a short while later. The atmosphere was still awkward, but less painful than the day before. Julian studied the family photographs on the wall while Helen quietly buttered a slice of toast.

“You really live in a beautiful home,” Julian commented.

Lena smiled softly. “You and Mom chose it together.

You spent almost three months looking for a place with a garden because she wanted one.”

Helen looked out the kitchen window toward the garden.

“I like flowers.”

“You love them,” Lena corrected gently. “Every Saturday morning after the wedding you’d spend hours out there. Julian used to complain that you cared more about the roses than him.”

Julian chuckled without thinking. “That sounds like something I’d say.”

Lena’s eyes lit up. “You remember?”

The smile on Julian’s face slowly faded. He shook his head. “No… it just sounds familiar.”

Disappointed settled over her again, but Lena refused to give up. Even a feeling of familiarity was better than nothing.

After breakfast she went upstairs and returned with three thick photo albums. Dust clung to the covers.

Oliver recognised them immediately.

“You kept those?”

“Of course I did. These are the only pictures we have of the last seven months.”

She placed the albums on the coffee table and sat between Helen and Julian.

“I thought… maybe these might help.”

Helen and Julian exchanged a glance, then nodded.

Lena carefully opened the first album.

The very first photograph showed Helen and Julian on their wedding day seven months ago, smiling at each other while Lena and Oliver stood a little awkwardly in the background. It had been a small ceremony.

Everyone had still been getting used to one another.

Helen stared at the picture. “That’s… me.”

“And Julian,” Lena said quietly. “That was the day the four of us officially became a family.”

Helen gently traced the edge of the photograph. “I look happy.”

“You were,” Lena said. “You kept saying you were nervous about becoming a stepmother, but you still smiled the whole day.”

Julian leaned closer. “I took this?”

“No. Oliver did. You were too busy staring at Mom.”

One page after another showed the slow building of their blended family: the first dinner together after the wedding, the day Oliver and Lena finally stopped arguing long enough to take a selfie, the weekend they painted the guest room together. Lena told the story behind every picture, laughing at the early awkwardness while trying not to cry when Helene and

Julian looked at the images with blank expressions.

“This was the day Oliver taught me how to change a tyre,” Lena explained, pointing at a photo of the four of them standing beside the car. “I was terrible at it. You both laughed for ten minutes.”

Oliver smirked. “You dropped the wrench twice.”

“I was concentrating.”

“You were dramatic.”

“I was not.”

Even Helen laughed softly. The sound brightened the room for a moment.

“You two really do argue like you’ve known each other longer than seven months,” she observed.

“We’ve had a lot of practice,” Oliver replied with a small grin.

Lena looked at the warmth in Helen’s smile and silently prayed that somewhere deep inside, a forgotten memory of the last seven months had begun to stir.