My name’s Jovie, and I’m 16 these days. When I was ten, cancer chipped away at my mom bit by bit, taking her from me one round of treatment after another. Those years left marks that still pull tight across my early days.
Mom’s name was Seren. She was the sort of soft woman who made you hush without trying. Just being near her felt like a quiet song.
She’d weave my hair into braids for school pics and tuck short notes in my lunch that read things like “You’re strong. You’re sweet. You’re mine.”
On lazy Sunday mornings, she’d hum Fleetwood Mac tunes while we whipped up lemon squares, flour all over her apron and a spark in her eyes.
Dad loved her with everything he had. He’d slip a wildflower behind her ear at the store, just to see her grin. Those small moves showed me what real care looked like.
I’d sneak peeks at them swaying slow in the kitchen after supper, like every radio hit was made for them. I figured their bond kept us safe from anything.
Cancer didn’t crash in loud.
It slipped in quiet and stuck around. First the doctor runs that never ended, then the bright scarves to hide her thinning hair. By ten, I’d picked up words no kid should know.
Some days, Mom was still her. Her eyes would light up with her jokes, and she’d crack up at Dad’s lame wordplay. But others, the whole setup felt off-kilter, like we were hanging on to keep from falling.
Dad gripped her hand at every check and figured out her scarf knots just right. His gentle side became what kept us from breaking.
He’d murmur, “We’ll push through, Seren,” even when the doctor’s face said the rest.
I’ll never shake that mild October day when Mom had me sit by her bed and flipped open a little velvet case. The look in her eyes said this was one to hold forever.
Nestled inside was a slim silver chain with a small oval pendant, edges worn smooth and carved with a light forget-me-not.
When I popped the pendant open, a snapshot of us three at the fair stared back. I had gaps where my front teeth went, sticky candy on my face, and Mom and Dad cracked up like they’d cracked the code to joy.
The inside back read in small, neat script: “Take me to your days ahead. – S.”
Her fingers trembled as she clicked it around my neck.
“When you have this on,” she said, nestling the pendant to my skin, “you’ll hear my giggle. Smell our kitchen when we scorched the treats. Know the spot where you felt most safe.” She touched over my heart. “This isn’t the end, honey. This pendant keeps us close always.”
I’ve had that pendant on nearly every day since. I had no clue it’d one day light a fight I never wanted.
A few months on, still just ten, cancer took her for good.
One evening, Mom was there, breathing hopes into my curls, and by morning light, she was gone. Everything turned sharp and empty, even in the sun.
She went in the lilac dress she picked out, and that silver pendant turned into the last bit of her I could keep close.
Two years later, Dad wed a woman named Calista.
They crossed paths at a town event where Dad’s work chipped in cash. Calista caught eyes right off. She was sleek, sure of herself, the type who owned any space. Around her, I always felt faded.
After seeing Dad’s sorrow eat him up for months, she looked like a way back to life. For that, I tried to feel thankful.
A year in, they said vows in a quiet setup. I wore a soft blue dress and faked smiles for the shots, telling myself it helped Dad. But inside, a quiet worry had started.
At the start, Calista wasn’t mean outright.
She kept things cool and stiff, like we were folks she watched from afar. She settled in with her tidy bags and spotless ways.
“We’ll build our own setup here,” she said, showing off those bright teeth. “Clean and new.”
I talked myself into thinking that meant mending.
But bit by bit, the front wore thin. And when it fell, it stung worse than I’d guessed.
It kicked off with quick, sharp digs.
If milk splashed at breakfast, she’d huff big. “Your mom must’ve skipped the grace lessons.”
If I pulled on one of Mom’s old sweaters, she’d tug the cloth. “So last year. Just like her picks.”
When I tripped on words in schoolwork, she’d actually chuckle. “No shock you sound so rough. Some folks just miss the basics.”
She picked on my necklace most. Every time I fiddled with it without thinking, her stare would slice. Like the pendant was out to get her.
“You need something fresh, Jovie,” she’d say all sugar. “Truth, hanging on to old stuff isn’t good for a teen.”
It ramped up when her mom, Nimue, started dropping by often. If Calista was a blade, Nimue was a full edge. Side by side, they turned nonstop.
If a spoon clattered at supper, Nimue would smirk. “Poor kid missed real raising.”
Calista would laugh along. “Well, with her kind of mom, what’d you wait for?”
They’d cackle as one. At me, and at Mom’s shadow. Each one chipped her away more.
Dad missed it all. Long shifts left him drained by evening. By door time, Calista flipped back to warm tea and smiles. She nailed her act when he was near.
“She’s settling in fine, Rafferty,” she’d purr. “I’m easing her through the change.”
The rare times I tried spilling to Dad, Calista had her shield up. She cut me off before I finished.
I’d kick off with, “Dad, Calista said something about Mom today,” and she’d slide in soft. “Oh, sweet Jovie’s hurting bad. She twists help into hits sometimes. I’d never knock Seren, Rafferty. I know her spot with you two.”
Dad would breathe heavy, rub his brow, and nudge me to cut her slack.
He craved calm at home, and Calista timed her show spot-on. Like she’d run lines.
So I quit telling. I started hiding the pendant under my tops, safe from Calista’s mean looks.
I figured that fixed it. But then Dad’s birthday hit, and it all went south. A night for cheers turned into the break point.
Calista threw a fancy supper with family pals. The table shone with her fine plates and glassware. She’d slaved all day on food and blooms, owning her hostess gig. The place gleamed like her spotlight.
I passed starters and aimed to fade. Guests laughed and talked, thrilled for Dad’s day. Their cheer just made me feel more off.
I perched quiet in my seat, twisting my fork while chat buzzed on.
That’s when I slipped. And Calista jumped it.
Without a thought, I reached for my pendant under my sweater. Just a tic when I felt shaky or missed Mom. The cool touch always settled me.
Calista’s keen eyes caught it fast. She leaned my way with that phony sweet grin for show, but her bite came low and hard.
“That tacky chain again, Jovie. Looks so tacky. Ditch it now before folks spot. You want them thinking we’re broke or what?”
Nimue, right next to Calista, piled on with her sour smile. “Yeah, lose that junk fast. All’ll mock you for hauling some worn-out junk from a lost mom. Quit the sad act and quit shaming us.”
My neck locked, but a fire deep down broke free. I straightened and met Calista’s stare head-on. The quiet I’d kept for years fell away right there.
“This is my mom’s pendant,” I said clear for the whole table. “And I’ll keep it on always.”
The room froze, stares heavy like weights.
Calista’s fake grin twitched bad. Then she fired back.
“Well, I’m your mom now, Jovie,” she said. “I’ve given more in four years than she did in ten.”
“Spot on!” Nimue sneered. “Quit dissing my girl with this mushy junk about your ‘dear mommy.’ Calista’s your true mom! She’s the one handling you day in, day out. And you sit here, thanks-less and self-centered like ever.”
Thanks-less and self-centered? It rang in my ears, cheeks hot with shame, hands shaky. The hits threatened to stick.
Guests shifted uneasy, eyes on plates.
Then a deep, rough voice sliced the quiet. The kind that shook the air.
“Stop.”
Dad loomed in the kitchen arch. Birthday cake still in hand, but his face stormed dark. Eyes burned with a rage I’d never clocked.
He’d caught every bit. And for once, Calista’s front broke clean.
Calista and Nimue gawked at Dad like he shouldn’t be there.
“Rafferty,” Calista stuttered, faking a laugh, “we were just chatting a bit—”
“Chatting?” Dad echoed. “Bashing my girl and trashing my wife’s memory is your chat?”
Nimue sat tall. “Oh, Rafferty, don’t overdo it. We’re just steering this kid right. Clearly, her mom couldn’t—”
“Not one word.” His tone boomed now. Neck veins popped like cords. “Don’t breathe Seren’s name here again. Not that way. Never.”
He stepped over, hand light on my shoulder. Not to hold back, but to back me up. Then he jabbed at the door.
“Out. You two. Now.”
Calista’s jaw dropped shocked. “Rafferty, you can’t mean it! This is your birthday meal!”
“No,” Dad said, rock-steady. “This is my home. And my girl’s the only kin I want here.”
Nimue choked mad. “Rafferty, this is nuts—”
But Dad swung the door wide already. “Out. Or I dial cops for trouble.”
Calista’s glare boiled, but she knew defeat. Nimue snatched her bag with stiff, furious grabs.
All watched as they stomped out, shoes clacking sharp on wood. The door banged hard, rattling panes.
For a beat, the house hung dead quiet but for Mom’s hall clock’s soft ticks. Like time held breath too.
Then Dad dropped to my side.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he breathed. “Should’ve heard you way back. But swear, this ends here.”
When guests saw the storm pass, they stuck around and pieced the night back. Dad rose with his glass and toasted words that stung my eyes. His voice hit not just ears, but right to my core.
“Tonight was for my birthday,” he said, eyes on me. “But the real star here’s my tough, sweet girl who holds her mom’s glow every day.”
For the first time in four years, I didn’t tuck my pendant away. I let it sit open where Mom set it, right at my heart.
Looking back, it’s almost a laugh how Calista figured she could wipe Mom’s trace from us. All she did was wipe herself out. And in that, she handed me my say.
