From belonging to becoming foreign
So Vera, Vicky wont get anything?
Veronica stared at her husband in disbelief. Andrew shrugged, his face as calm as if the matter were selfevident.
Vicky is my daughter, Vera. Shes supposed to move into her husbands house; she doesnt need a place of her own. The boys, however, must start families, get married. I owe them that help.
Veronicas gaze shifted to her daughter. Vicky froze at the kitchen table where the family had just finished dinner. Her lips tightened into a thin line, her skin went pale, almost translucent. Her hands rested motionless on her knees. Veronica saw Vicky trying to keep a brave front, but the tension in her shoulders told her that every word Andrew spoke struck like a hammer.
Vicky rose slowly, snatched her bag from the back of a chair, gave a brief nod.
Thanks for dinner. I have to be going.
She turned and walked to the door, which shut behind her with a soft click. Veronica watched her daughter, unable to utter a sound. Inside, her chest clenched with pain and bewilderment. What had just happened? Why had Andrew acted this way?
Ive already decided, Andrew continued, as if Vickys departure hadnt registered. The adverts out, my threebedroom house will sell soon. Ill split the proceeds evenly between Max and Ethan. And Vicky can go look for a wealthy suitor she still has her whole life ahead of her.
Max and Ethan, sitting opposite, nodded approvingly. The older son, Max, even smiled at his father.
Thats the right call, Dad. Well need new flats soon enough.
I agree, Ethan added. Times are tight; without a parents help were stuck.
The sons rose, thanked everyone for dinner and left for their own homes. Max lived with his wife in a onebedroom flat; Ethan rented a studio.
Veronica remained seated, frozen. The silence in the house pressed down on her. Andrew began clearing the dishes, whistling a tuneless melody. Veronica stared at him, not recognizing the man before her.
Dont you consider Vicky your daughter?
Andrew turned.
What does that have to do with anything?
Veronica pushed herself up, her voice cracking into a shout.
Because you adopted her! I adopted Max! We had Ethan! Does that give you the right to write Vicky off? Shes your daughter, Andrew! Yours!
Im not writing her off, Andrew said, placing plates in the sink and turning to his wife. Im simply looking after those who need the house more. The boys must marry, build families. Vicky will find a husband, move in with him. You have to understand, Veronica. Its a sensible decision.
Sensible? Veronica snapped. Did you see her face? Do you even realize what you said? Vicky has called you Dad for years! She adores you, shares everything with you! And you just tossed her aside!
Ive done nothing wrong, Andrew cut in. Its my premarriage property, I can do with it as I wish. Whats the problem?
The problem is you hurt Vicky! You struck her, Andrew. Cant you see that?
He waved a hand.
Shell get over it. Shell calm down and understand. Shes a smart girl; shell figure out whats what.
Veronica fell silent, words choking in her throat. She knew it was futile. Andrew had already made up his mind, and no argument would move him. She couldnt stop him from selling the house hed bought before they married. Their whole marriage had been lived in her rented flat, also premarriage. Andrew rented his own place and funneled the rent into the family. Now his behavior was beyond her comprehension.
She retreated to the bedroom, lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling. Tears traced her temples, but she didnt wipe them away. Inside, she burned with resentment for the daughter she couldnt protect and helplessness at being unable to change anything.
Nearly a month passed. Max and Ethan stopped by often, showing Andrew printouts from property websites, debating neighbourhoods, square footage, tube proximity. Andrew nodded, offering advice on what to look for. Vicky never wrote, never called, never visited. Veronica tried to reach her several times; each time Vickys reply was curt: Busy, all good, well talk later. And she never called back.
You see, our daughters forgotten us, Andrew remarked one evening. Shes left. Not even once has she come around.
Veronica bit her tongue, refusing to add more. It was she who had abandoned Vicky, who had made her feel like an outsider. She wanted to say it, but the words wouldnt surface. And even if she did, Andrew would never hear them.
The house sold. Veronica clung to hope until the very end that Andrew might change his mind and at least give Vicky a share. He didnt. Every penny went to the boys. Max and Ethan celebrated, made plans, while Veronica watched their smiling faces, unable to comprehend how someone could betray a loved one so easily.
Two weeks before Andrews birthday, Veronica set the table, invited the sons and Maxs wife. Vicky arrived last, a small parcel in her hand. She greeted everyone, handed her father a gift.
Here you go.
Andrew opened the box to reveal an ordinary shaving set. No sentiment, no warmthjust a token youd give to an acquaintance.
Vicky sat down, barely touched her food. She answered in monosyllables, her jaw clenched, her fork trembling. Veronica saw the strain in her daughters face, the pain in every movement.
Vicky, you barely wished me a happy birthday. Why are you so silent?
Vicky placed her cup down slowly, looked at Andrew with a gaze stripped of any former adoration. Only cold remained.
Happy birthday, Mr. Andrew.
Veronica froze. From the day Andrew adopted her, Vicky had called him Dad. Now she used his name and patronymic.
Andrews cup hung halfway to his mouth. Max and Ethan exchanged glances but said nothing.
I wish you many more years, Vicky continued, her voice void of warmth. May you be happy with your sons. May everything work out for you. Live long and well.
She grabbed her bag, nodded to Veronica, and headed for the door. Veronica sprang up, lunged after her, catching up at the hallway.
Vicky, wait!
Vicky turned, tears welling, spilling over her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, but they streamed down.
Mum, its not about the flat. Ill buy my own place, I can manage. I just thought he loved me, that he saw me as his own daughter. He doesnt. His own sons mean more to him. Im just a spare part. Ive learned my lesson. I wont pretend nothing happened.
Veronica reached for her, but Vicky stepped back.
Ive got to go. See you, Mum.
Vicky left, and Veronica stood alone in the entrance, everything inside her shattering. The daughter she loved most had been hurt by the man shed called Father, the man shed trusted.
Veronica returned to the living room. Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Veronica raised a hand.
Enough. The talkings over.
She turned and went to the bedroom, collapsed onto the pillow, and wept. The tears fell in hot rivers; for the first time in years she allowed herself to simply cryfor the daughter betrayed, for the family splintered.
A week later, Veronica barely spoke to Andrew. A plan solidified in her mind, clear and sharp.
Im selling our house, she announced.
Andrew choked on his coffee.
What? Why?
Ill buy a onebedroom flat and give the rest to Vicky. Because thats what I want. Its my property, my decision.
Youve lost your mind! Andrew spat, setting his cup down. We still have room in the house, and soon the grandchildren will be coming! How will we fit them all in a onebedroom?
Ive decided. You have no say. I was silent when you sold your flat!
Andrew lingered for days, trying to persuade her, but Veronica was unmoving.
The house sold quickly. Veronica found a decent onebedroom in the same neighbourhood, completed the paperwork, transferred the remaining funds to Vicky, and drove to her daughters new flat.
Vicky opened the door, froze, then burst into tears as she saw her mother. She threw her arms around Veronicas neck.
Mum, why? Youre living in a tiny flat now!
Veronica held her tightly, stroked her hair, kissed her crown. Their tears mingled, but these were tears of relief.
Maybe to Andrew Ive become a stranger, she whispered, but to me youll always be my little princess, my only daughter. Ill love you until the end of my days. Always, hear me? Always.
They stood embraced, sobbing. Vickys shoulders shook; Veronicas hand soothed her back. They stayed like that for a long while, unwilling to let go.
Vicky never repaired her relationship with Andrew. She stopped visiting, stopped calling, and only spoke with Veronica, who now visited her regularly. At least Veronica knew her daughter wasnt left emptyhanded. She had prevented the hurt from becoming final.
