Just eight months later, he met Sophie at a widow’s support group.
I tried to understand—two lonely people seeking comfort, I got it. But it wasn’t just that. Within weeks, they were inseparable. Within months, Sophie had moved in.
I remember the night Peter told me about her.
We were in his kitchen. The house still smelled like Matilda’s lavender candles, her favorite yellow curtains swayed by the open window. Her touch was everywhere.
“I’ve met someone,” Peter said, staring into his coffee cup.
I set my drink down. “Already?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Matilda’s side of the bed is barely cold, Peter. Your kids are still crying themselves to sleep.”
His jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hear them? I lie awake every night, wondering if I’ll ever be enough for them.”
“Then why rush this?”
“Because I’m drowning, Adam,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I wake up alone, and for a second, I forget she’s gone. Then it hits me. The kids need someone who isn’t broken. Someone who can love them without falling apart.”
“They need their father, not a replacement mother they didn’t ask for.”
His eyes darkened. “You don’t get to judge me unless you’ve buried the love of your life and had to keep breathing afterward.”
A Family They Never Asked For
The kids hated it. They weren’t ready for a new mom. We told Peter to slow down, to give them time, even suggested therapy. But he refused.
“Love doesn’t wait,” he said, marrying Sophie soon after.
Then, a year later, Sophie got pregnant.
Maeve and Jake barely had time to adjust before their world was upended again. A baby was born. Then another. Suddenly, Peter’s house was full of strangers—people Maeve and Jake barely recognized.
I visited often, and each time, I watched them shrink further into themselves.
One evening, I found Maeve sitting alone on the back porch, clutching one of her mother’s old scarves.
“You okay, kiddo?” I asked, sitting beside her.
She looked up at me, eyes red. “Dad packed away Mom’s things today. Said the closet needed space for Sophie’s stuff.”
My stomach dropped. “Did he ask you first?”
She shook her head. “It’s like he’s trying to erase her. Like she never existed.”
I swallowed hard. “Your mom will always exist in you, Maeve. No one can take that away.”
She leaned against me. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m disappearing, Uncle Adam.”
And that broke me.
The Breaking Point
It all came to a head at my sister’s daughter’s 10th birthday party.
Peter wanted a family photo—Maeve and Jake holding the baby. They refused.
“Come on, guys,” Peter said, forcing a smile. “Just one picture.”
Maeve crossed her arms. “With who?”
“With your baby sister.”
Jake scoffed. “She’s not our sister.”
The backyard fell silent.
Peter’s face darkened. “That’s not funny.”
Maeve stood firm. “She’s not our sister. And neither is the baby on the way.”
Peter let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t mean that.”
Jake tilted his head. “Yeah, we do.”
I watched Peter’s jaw tighten, his hands clenching at his sides. “She’s your blood. You don’t get to decide that.”
Maeve’s voice was quiet but heavy. “She’s your kid, Dad. Not Mom’s.”
The tension snapped like a live wire.
Peter exploded. “After everything I’ve done to keep this family together!”
Maeve’s eyes burned. “What family? The one you built on Mom’s grave?”
The entire party went silent. Even the children stopped playing.
Peter’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Don’t use your mother against me. She would have wanted us to be happy.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “You think this is what she wanted? For you to replace her like she was nothing?”
Sophie stepped forward, baby on her hip. “Peter, maybe we should—”
“No!” Peter snapped. “They need to hear this. Your mother would be ashamed of how you’re acting. She raised you better than this.”
Maeve’s face went white. “Don’t tell us what Mom would want. You didn’t even wait a year before you forgot her.”
“I NEVER FORGOT HER!” Peter roared. Everyone flinched. “I live with her ghost every day! In your eyes, in Jake’s laugh. You think I don’t see her? That I don’t miss her?”
Jake’s hands balled into fists. “Then why did you erase her? Why did you pack away her photos? Why did you give away her clothes? Why is there nothing left of her in our house?”
Peter’s shoulders sagged. “Because I couldn’t breathe, Jake. Every corner of that house held a piece of her. Every room suffocated me. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
Maeve’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
And that was it.
Peter yelled that they were being cruel and ungrateful. Maeve and Jake shut down.
Later, I found them huddled behind the garage. Jake was crying into his hands, and Maeve was holding him tight.
The Request
Two weeks later, Peter showed up at my apartment.
He sat on my couch, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I said nothing.
“They hate me,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “They won’t speak to me. They don’t eat dinner with us. Sophie tries, but they won’t even look at her.” He exhaled shakily. “I can’t reach them, Adam.”
I swallowed, unsure where this was going.
He finally looked up, his eyes wet. “I want them to live with you.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Just for a while. Until things settle.”
I stared at my brother, the man who had once been their world, now asking to hand them over like a problem he couldn’t fix.
“Peter…” I shook my head. “They don’t need distance. They need you. But not the you who replaced their mom in less than a year. Not the you who erased her from your house. They need the father who held them at night when she was sick. The one who promised them they’d be okay.”
Peter buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know if I can be him anymore.”
I sighed. “Then you better figure it out. Because if you don’t, you’ll lose them forever.”
He didn’t answer.
And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if he even cared.