The Memories
Only a few people spoke at the dinner table. My father-in-law made small talk now and then, and my mother-in-law chimed in occasionally. Sometimes it was Cyrus who spoke. Sometimes Bella. But Cullen and I were silent. Numb and zipped up. We didn’t add anything unless someone asked us directly.
Eventually, dinner ended, and someone suggested we move to the living room, have drinks, and watch a movie. We all agreed, so we did exactly that, drinks in hand, eyes on the screen, Cesar playing on the mat.
At some point, he fell asleep, small and peaceful.
Bella and Cyrus took it as their cue to leave.
They stood, stretching, and Bella came over to me with that same brightness in her smile.
She hugged me tightly.
“I’ll be here tomorrow,” she said. “I can’t wait to have some girl time again!”
I stood by the door, watching her and Cyrus walk away.
And at that moment, as the door slowly closed behind them, I asked myself the same question I’d been pushing away for weeks now.
How am I supposed to handle her?
*******
Bella showed up the next day at exactly 10 a.m., like she usually did.
This time, I had a new strategy. Since we were both clearly going to keep pretending, playing this silent game of fake smiles and polite lies, I decided I’d match her energy. Mirror her behaviour. If we were going to act in each other’s faces, then fine, I’d play the role too.
So, I smiled at her. I welcomed her in. I spent time with her, nodded at the right moments, laughed when she expected me to and listened to her drone on and on about Cesar and Cyrus and whatever else filled her perfect little world.
She talked. I entertained. Then she left.
It became a routine, one that lasted all week. Every day at 10, like clockwork, she’d arrive with that too-bright smile, that overly excited voice, and talk my ear off. And I would sit there and pretend. Smile. Nod. Respond just enough.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t almost break once.
Just once, during one of our conversations, I almost asked her the question that had been echoing in my mind for days:
Does Cullen still spend mornings at your house?
Because she still came to ours at 10. Still showed up like she hadn’t just seen him, hadn’t just spent time with him. So is it him you’re with before you walk through that door?
I wanted to ask, desperately.
Just to see how she’d react. Just to see what she’d say. Watch her lie or squirm or get defensive.
But I didn’t. I held it in.
Because asking meant confronting. And confronting meant conflict. And conflict… well, she would win. She had an advantage. She had the upper hand. Bella had been in this family longer than I had. She was born into it. Calling our mother-in-law “Mom” came naturally to her, it rolled off her tongue like breathing.
For me, it still felt like I was saying a word I hadn’t earned.
And if it ever came to a fight, an actual, open war, I knew exactly how it would go.
Everyone would take her side. I especially wouldn't count on my husband's help.
So, I stayed quiet.
I buried the questions, swallowed the doubts, and carried on pretending. I smiled through my teeth and locked away my feelings somewhere deep inside.
At least for now.
The following week, one day, Bella came to the house without Cesar.
"Where's Cesar?" I asked her.
"Oh, I just left him at home."
"That's new," I said, raising a brow.
"No, it’s because I think it’s time you came to my house.”
I frowned instinctively, and she noticed.
“Don’t give me that face,” she said, laughing it off like always. “I always come here. And I, as your big sister, think it’s about time you knew my home too. Seriously, you should come. That way, whenever I can’t make it, we don’t have to miss out. We can still spend time together, you know?”
She smiled again, all charm and warmth, and added, “It’s not as big or as luxurious, but come on. Let’s go to my house today.”
“Fine,” I said. After all, what was stopping me?
Maybe this was the chance to see the other side of Bella. The real her. Not the carefully curated version she presented within the Cincinnati household. So, I agreed. And we walked because it really wasn’t far. Just a short stroll down the road.
When we arrived, I have to admit I was surprised.
Her house was beautiful. Not in the show-off way, but in the quiet, warm, lived-in kind of way. It was classy but cosy. Homey. Inviting. I guess the presence of a child made it feel warmer somehow. The colours were softer. More comforting. The kind of place that smelled like love and playdough and baked things.
There were decorations everywhere, pictures, mostly. Family photos. Artistic shots. Candid memories are frozen in time. Bella with her parents. With her in-laws. With her siblings. Pictures of her and Cullen, too. And Cyrus.
Everywhere I turned, she was there smiling, laughing, glowing. There wasn't a picture of Cullen or Cyrus that Bella wasn’t somehow a part of.
And as she gave me a tour, casually walking through the house while telling me stories about Cesar’s latest antics or this little corner she’d redecorated, I found myself stopping to really look at one of those pictures.
It was one of her and Cullen as kids.
Young. Carefree. Innocent.
But the way Cullen was looking at her in that photo, eyes locked on her like she was the only person in the world, it hit me hard. So hard I had to take a breath.
At that moment, something clicked. Cullen my husband, had been in love with Bella his whole life.
Not just some childish crush or a fleeting moment of affection.
His whole life. And I realized something else too, something painful, something I didn’t want to admit even to myself: How was I ever going to compete with a love like that?
A love so long. A love so strong. A love that had roots. A love that probably never ended.
I turned from the picture, my voice almost betraying me as I asked the question that had been building in my chest since I stepped into her house and saw the memories.
“So… did Cullen ever have girlfriends?”
Bella turned to look at me, caught slightly off guard.
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