‘My real mum still lives here,’ my stepson whispered one evening. I laughed it off until I started noticing strange things around our house.
When I married Ben, I thought I understood what it meant to enter the life of a widower. He was so devoted to his late wife, Irene, and was raising their seven-year-old son, Lucas, on his own.
I respected his deep love for her, knowing that it was tied to the memory of his first love and Lucas’s mother. I wasn’t here to replace her, but to start a new chapter for all of us.
The first few months of married life were everything I had hoped for. Lucas accepted me warmly, without the hesitation I had feared. I played games with him for hours, read his favourite bedtime stories and helped him with his schoolwork.
I even learned to cook his favourite macaroni and cheese just the way he likes it — with cheese and breadcrumbs on top.
One day, out of the blue, Lucas started calling me ‘Mummy,’ and every time he did, Ben and I would exchange proud smiles. It seemed like everything had fallen into place.
One evening, after a cosy night, I was putting Lucas to bed. Suddenly, he looked up at me, his eyes wide and serious. ‘You know, my real mum still lives here,’ he whispered.
I giggled softly, running my fingers through his hair. ‘Oh, sweetie, your mummy will always be with you, in your heart.’
But Lucas shook his head, squeezing my hand so hard it made my heart ache. ‘No, she’s here. In the house. I see her sometimes.’
A chill ran down my neck. I forced myself to smile and chalked it up to a child’s imagination running wild. ‘It’s just a dream, sweetie. Go to sleep.’
Lucas calmed down, but I felt uneasy. I pushed those thoughts away, telling myself that he was just getting used to his new family, to his new normal. But as the days went by, little things around the house began to bother me.
First, I would put away Lucas’s toys, only to find them back in exactly the same place where I had taken them. Not once or twice, but again and again.
And the kitchen cabinets — I rearranged them the way I liked, but the next morning everything was back in its place, as if someone was trying to undo my changes to the house. It was unnerving, but I told myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me.
One evening, I noticed something I couldn’t explain. I had moved a photo of Irene from the living room to a more inconspicuous shelf in the hallway. But when I went downstairs the next day, it was back in its old place, perfectly dusted, as if someone had just cleaned it.
I took a deep breath and decided to discuss it with Ben. ‘Do you move things around the house?’ I asked one evening, trying to sound casual as we finished dinner.
Ben looked up and smiled as if I had told a silly joke. ‘No, Brenda, why would that be? I think you’re just making it all up.’
He laughed, but there was something in his eyes — a hint of discomfort or perhaps reluctance. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt an invisible wall between us.
A few evenings later, Lucas and I were solving a puzzle on the living room floor. He was concentrating on arranging the pieces, sticking out his little tongue intently, when he suddenly looked up at me, his eyes wide and sincere.
‘Mummy says you shouldn’t touch her things.’
My heart skipped a beat. ‘What do you mean, sweetie?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice steady and looking towards the hallway.
Lucas leaned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘My real mum. She doesn’t like it when you move her things,’ he whispered, looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone to be watching us.
I froze, trying to make sense of his words.
He looked at me so seriously, as if he were sharing a secret he shouldn’t have revealed. I forced myself to smile, nodded, and squeezed his hand lightly. ‘It’s okay, Lucas. You don’t have to worry. Let’s finish our puzzle, okay?’
But that night, as Ben and I lay in bed, my thoughts raced. I tried to convince myself that it was just an overactive child’s imagination. But every time I closed my eyes, I heard Lucas’s words and saw him nervously glancing towards the hallway.
When Ben finally fell asleep, I quietly got up and headed for the attic. I knew Ben kept Irene’s old things in a box there. Perhaps if I could see them and learn more about her, it would help me understand why Lucas was behaving the way he was.
I climbed the creaky stairs, shining my torch into the darkness until I found the box tucked away in the corner, dusty but well cared for.
The lid was heavier than I expected, as if it had absorbed years of memories. I opened it and found old photographs, letters she had written to Ben, and an engagement ring, carefully wrapped in cloth. It was all so personal, and I felt a strange sense of guilt as I rummaged through it.
But there was something else. Several items looked fresh, as if they had been recently rearranged. And then I noticed it: a small door in the corner, half-hidden behind a stack of boxes.
I froze, squinting at the door. I had been in the attic several times before, but I had never noticed it. Slowly moving the boxes aside, I turned the old, tarnished handle. It clicked, and the door opened into a narrow room dimly lit by a small window.
And there, on a single bed covered with blankets, sat a woman whom I immediately recognised from photographs. She raised her head, her eyes widening.
I stepped back, frightened, and stammered, ‘You… you’re Emily, Ben’s sister, aren’t you?’
Emily’s expression changed from surprise to something else — a quiet, eerie calm. ‘I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have found out this way.’
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. ‘Why didn’t Ben tell me? Why are you here?’
She lowered her eyes, smoothing the edge of the blanket. ‘Ben didn’t want you to know. He thought you’d leave if you found out… if you saw me like this. I… I’ve been here for three years.’
‘Three years?’ I struggled to process what she had said. ‘You’ve been hiding here all this time?’
Emily nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “I… I don’t go out very often. I like it better here. But sometimes I get restless. And Lucas… I talk to him sometimes. He’s such a sweet boy.”
A chill ran through me. ‘Emily, what do you tell him? He thinks his mother is still here. He told me he doesn’t like it when I move things around.’
Emily’s face softened, but there was a flicker of unease in her eyes. ‘I sometimes tell him stories. About his mother. He misses her. I think it comforts him to know that she’s still… here.’
‘But he thinks you’re her. Lucas thinks you’re his real mother,’ I said, my voice breaking.
She turned away. ‘Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it helps him feel like she’s still here.’
I closed the door behind me and left the room. This was beyond anything I could have imagined. I went straight downstairs and found Ben in the living room, his face immediately filling with concern when he saw me.
‘Ben,’ I whispered, barely holding back. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Emily?’
He turned pale, his gaze darting away. ‘Brenda, I…’
‘Do you understand what she’s been doing? Lucas thinks… he thinks she’s his real mother!’
Ben’s face fell, and he sank down onto the sofa, resting his head in his hands. “I didn’t know it was that bad. I thought… I thought it would be better to keep her here, away from prying eyes. I couldn’t leave her alone. She’s my sister. And after Irene died, Emily changed. She refused to accept help.”
I sat down next to him and took his hand. ‘But she’s confusing Lucas, Ben. He’s still a child. He doesn’t understand.’
Ben sighed and nodded slowly. ‘You’re right. It’s not fair to Lucas — or to you. We can’t keep pretending everything is fine.’
A few minutes later, I whispered, ‘I think we should set up a camera to see if she really was leaving her room. Just to be sure.’
Ben hesitated, but finally agreed. That evening, we set up a small hidden camera outside Emily’s door.
The next evening, after Lucas went to bed, we sat in our room and watched the video. Nothing happened for several hours. Then, after midnight, we saw the door creak open.
Emily stepped into the hallway, her hair falling across her face, and stood looking at Lucas’s bedroom door.
Then Lucas appeared, rubbing his eyes, and walked towards her. Even on the grainy screen, I could see his small hand reaching out to her. She knelt down and whispered something to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw Lucas nod and say something in response, looking at her with the same sincere expression on his face.
I felt a wave of anger and sadness that I couldn’t control. ‘She… she’s feeding his imagination, Ben. It’s not healthy.’
Ben stared at the screen, his face worn and tired. ‘I know. It’s gone too far. We can’t let her do this to him anymore.’
The next morning, Ben sat down with Lucas and explained everything to him in simple terms. He told him that his Aunt Emily was sick, that sometimes her illness made her behave in ways that confused people, and that his real mummy wasn’t coming back.
Lucas fell silent, staring at his little hands, and I could tell he was trying to understand. ‘But she told me she was my mum. You can’t send her away, Dad,’ he muttered, his eyes filling with tears.
Ben hugged him tightly, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I know, buddy. But that’s how she was trying to help you feel close to your mum. She loves you, just like we do. And we’re going to help her get better.’
Later that day, Ben arranged for Emily to see a doctor. The process was painful; she protested and even cried, but Ben was adamant, explaining that she needed help. Once she was admitted to hospital, the house became quieter, almost brighter.
At first, it was difficult for Lucas. He asked about Emily, sometimes wondering if she would return. But gradually, he began to understand that what he believed was not reality, and he began to come to terms with the truth.
Ben and I grew even closer, supporting each other as we helped Lucas cope with the situation.
I didn’t expect this kind of journey when I married him, but somehow we came out stronger on the other side, bound not only by love but by everything we had faced as a family.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalised for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
