Chapter 1 — I’m Getting Married
1106 Words
May’s POV
I sat at the long mahogany dining table, idly prodding the macaroni on my plate with my fork.The chandelier above sparkled like ice, throwing shifting shadows across the untouched plates and polished silverware. Everything looked perfect—except me.
Across from me, Mum sat poised in her navy-blue pantsuit, enjoying breakfast like nothing in the world had changed.
But everything had.
It had been four months since Dad died, and the house still didn’t feel like home. His laughter didn’t echo in the halls anymore. His teasing voice didn’t call me his little cake baker.
I missed him so much it hurt to breathe.
“You’ve got all the ingredients,” he used to say with a laugh, “when are you baking up a husband?”
A weak smile tugged at my lips. Then it vanished.
“May.”
Mum’s voice cut through the silence.
“Yes, Mum?”
She set her fork down with that same precision she always had. Her perfectly done bun and designer jewelry caught the light from the chandelier.
“I’m getting married,” she said, her tone as casual as if she were announcing the day’s weather.
Clink.
My fork slipped from my fingers and hit the marble floor.
I stared at her, disbelief tightening my throat. The room felt too bright, too quiet, too cold.
“What… did you just say?”
Her eyes didn’t waver. “I’m getting married. Next month.”
I stood up so fast my chair scraped the floor. My heart slammed in my chest. “Next month?! Are you even hearing yourself? It’s only been four months! Dad’s body is barely cold!”
Mum raised a brow. “Grief wears many faces, darling. I refuse to mourn forever.”
My hands clenched at my sides. “Who is he?” I demanded. “Don’t tell me you were seeing him while Dad was still—” I cut myself off, my voice cracking. “Were you cheating on him?”
Her polished smile faltered for a split second. Just a flicker. But I saw it. Then it was gone.
“Don’t ask foolish questions,” she said coolly. “I’m your mother. You don’t get to dictate who I love.”
My blood boiled. “Love?” I spat. “You don’t even sound sorry! You’re replacing him like he was some old handbag!”
She stood, tall and regal, as if I hadn’t just accused her of something vile. “This conversation is over.”
“No. It’s not. I’m telling you now—if you go through with this… if you marry that bastard—whoever he is—you’re dead to me.”
I stormed toward the door, my heels pounding against the marble. My hand reached for the handle—then crashed into a tall, broad man stepping inside.
“Watch it,” I snapped, brushing past him without even looking up.
Outside, I stood on the sidewalk, my eyes unfocused. I didn’t even know where I was going. I just knew I was really pissed and didn’t want to see that woman. My hand trembled as I reached into my coat pocket for my phone—only to grab nothing but lint.
No phone.
No purse.
I cursed under my breath.
Swallowing the humiliation, I spun on my heel and stormed back toward the front door.
I moved quickly, my footsteps silent on the marble floors. As I neared the dining room, I slowed—partly because I didn’t want to hear her voice again, and partly because I suddenly heard something else.
Laughter.
A man’s voice. Deep. Smooth.
I crept closer and peeked just beyond the archway.
There she was—my mother. Smiling. Practically glowing in the arms of the same man I’d bumped into barely minutes ago.
I froze behind the hallway pillar.
He was tall, broad, confident. There was something smug in the way he stood, like he already owned the place.
She was smiling up at him like a schoolgirl. Like a woman in love.
“You should’ve told me you were coming,” she said, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket. “I would’ve had Lilian make your favorite breakfast.”
He leaned in, close enough to whisper in her ear. “I’d rather have you for breakfast.”
She actually giggled. “You’re bad.”
He tilted his head slightly, his voice low. “You had a good man… yet you still fell for me.”
Her smile twitched—just a little. “Don’t mention that dead fool,” she snapped, stepping back and adjusting her blouse like nothing vile had just left her mouth.
My blood turned to ice.
That dead fool… was my father.
The man who carried me on his shoulders every Christmas.
The man who watched baking shows with me on Saturday mornings just to pretend he understood frosting.
The man who used to smell like cinnamon and old books and always had a stupid dad joke ready when I was upset.
I blinked as the memory crashed over me.
My eyes burned.
I couldn’t move.
I just stood there, hiding like a coward, watching the woman who gave birth to me melt under the touch of some stranger who wasn’t fit to shine my dad’s shoes.
He reached out now, slipping her coat over her shoulders like he’d done it a hundred times before. She beamed at him, linking her arm through his as if they belonged together.
“Shall we, my queen?” he asked.
She giggled again—my God, she actually giggled—and they walked out of the dining room, whispering and laughing like newlyweds.
They didn’t notice me.
I stayed frozen behind the pillar until the front door clicked shut.
And then I breathed again—barely.
That was the moment it hit me: Mum had moved on. Not just moved on. She had replaced him. Erased him. Like he was some temporary chapter in her life and not the man who’d made this house a home.
And that man—whoever he was—was going to be my stepfather?
Bile rose in my throat.
I turned and bolted upstairs.
I couldn’t stay. Not one more minute under this roof.
With shaking hands, I threw my things into a suitcase. Essentials. Passport. Wallet. I booked the first flight back to London.
Dragging my suitcase behind me, I came back down, ignoring the stiff-faced maids and the ache in my chest.
Outside, the sun blazed down, but I felt nothing but cold.
I didn’t look back.
Not once.
- Writer
