After losing Sarah, I never imagined remarrying. Grief swallowed me whole, but Sophie—our three-year-old—kept me going. Two years later, Amelia entered our lives gently, her warmth slowly winning Sophie’s trust. When Amelia and I married, we moved to her inherited house. Sophie loved her new princess room, and for the first time, family felt like a future, not a memory.
During my first extended trip, Sophie told me Amelia was “different”—mean, locking herself in the attic, making Sophie clean alone, and denying treats. Worried, I followed Amelia one night and found the attic transformed: fairy lights, books, paints—a secret magical space for Sophie. Amelia confessed she’d been too strict, copying her own harsh upbringing, and wanted to get motherhood right.
Together, we brought Sophie upstairs, and her fear turned to wonder. The attic became a place of joy, learning, and love. Amelia learned to balance rules with kindness, and Sophie blossomed.
Grief lingers, but family grows through repair, love, and making space for one another—even in the attic.
