I’m Bella, 24, and my world shattered when my mom passed away. I expected grief, but not the emotional whiplash that followed. My dad, 59, remarried Lucy—who’s just 27—and now insists we “be friends.” At dinner, I finally snapped: “She’s closer to my age than yours. She’ll never be family to me.” Lucy just smirked, like she’d won something. I felt sick.
The next morning, I walked into the living room and froze. Every photo of my mom was gone. When I confronted Lucy, she said, “We’re not family, so don’t expect me to treat you like one. Your mom isn’t my family either.” Her words cut deeper than I expected. I told my dad, hoping he’d understand.
Instead, he brushed it off. “You need to move on,” he said. “This is my life now. Respect my choices.” I felt like I was losing him too—not just to grief, but to someone who didn’t care about the life we had before. I tried to make peace, but I can’t pretend Lucy belongs in my story. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I’m not sure if I’m being unreasonable, but I feel like I’m mourning two people now—my mom and the version of my dad who once protected me. I’ve started creating a space in my room to honor my mom quietly. I don’t want war. I just want to remember her without erasure. And if I have to coexist with Lucy, I’ll do it on my terms—with civility, not forced friendship.
