The house that once felt like home had become a strangers domain.
Does that mean Vicky gets nothing? Veronica asked, her eyes wide.
Andrew shrugged, his expression as calm as a lake on a windless day, as if the answer were obvious.
Poppy is my daughter, Veron. She should move into my houseshe doesnt need another roof. The boys, though, still have to start families, get married. I owe them that, he said.
Veronica turned her gaze to their daughter. Poppy froze at the kitchen table where the family had just finished dinner. Her lips tightened into a thin line, her skin turned almost translucent, and her hands lay motionless on her knees. Veronica saw Poppy trying to keep her composure, but the tension in her shoulders told her every word from Andrew landed like a hammer.
Poppy rose slowly, grabbed her bag from the back of the chair, gave a brief nod, and said, Thanks for dinner. I should be going. She turned toward the door, which closed behind her with barely a whisper. Veronica watched her daughter leave, unable to utter a single word. Inside, the house seemed to contract with pain and confusion. What had just happened? Why had Andrew acted so?
Ive already made my mind up, Andrew continued, as if he hadnt noticed Poppys exit. Ive advertised the threebedroom house; itll sell soon. Ill split the proceeds evenly between Max and Ethan. And Poppy can look for a wealthy husbandshe still has her whole life ahead of her.
Max and Ethan, seated opposite, nodded in approval. The older son, Max, even smiled at his father.
Thats right, Dad. Well need our own place soon enough.
Im with you, Ethan added. These days you cant get anywhere without a parents help.
The brothers rose, thanked everyone for the meal, and left for their own homesMax lived with his wife in a modest flat, Ethan rented a studio.
Veronica remained at the table, frozen, the silence in the flat pressing down on her. Andrew began washing dishes, whistling a tune Veronica barely recognized.
Dont you see Poppy as your own daughter? she asked, voice trembling.
What does that have to do with anything? Andrew replied without turning.
Veronica stood, her voice cracking into a shout.
Because you adopted her! I adopted Max! We brought Ethan into this family! Does that give you the right to write Poppy off? Shes your daughter, Andrew! Yours!
Im not writing her off, Andrew said, placing plates in the sink and facing her. Im just looking after those who need the house more. The boys need to marry, build families. Poppy will find a husband, move in with him. You have to understand, Veronica. Its the sensible thing to do.
Sensible? Look at her face! Do you even realize what you just said? Poppy has called you Dad for years! She adores you, shares everything with you! And you treat her like this?
Ive done nothing wrong, Andrew snapped. Its my premarriage property; I can do with it what I please. Whats the problem?
The problem is you hurt Poppy! You crossed a line, Andrew. Cant you see that?
Andrew waved his hand dismissively.
Shell get over it. Shell calm down and understand. Shes a smart girl; shell figure it out.
Veronica fell silent, words stuck in her throat. She knew arguing was futile. Andrew had already decided, and nothing she said could change his mind. Yes, she couldnt stop him from selling the house. Their entire marriage had been lived in her flat, also a premarriage home. Andrew rented his own place, the rent went straight into the family fund. Now his behaviour left her speechless.
She turned and slipped into the bedroom, collapsed onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Tears streamed down her temples, but she didnt wipe them away. Inside, a fire of betrayal and helplessness roared.
A month passed. Max and Ethan visited often, showing Andrew printouts from property websites, debating neighbourhoods, square footage, tube links. Andrew nodded approvingly, offering advice on what to look for. Poppy neither wrote, nor called, nor visited. Veronica tried to reach her several times; each time Poppy answered curtlybusy, all good, well talk laterand never called back.
See? Shes forgotten us, Andrew said one evening. Shes quit. She never even came back once.
Veronica bit her tongue, feeling the sting of truth. He had pushed her away, made her feel like an outsider. She wanted to shout it, but there was no strength left, and no pointAndrew would never hear it.
The house sold. Veronica clung to the faint hope that Andrew might change his mind and give Poppy a share, but nothing came. Every pound went to the sons. Max and Ethan beamed, making plans, while Veronica watched their happy faces, unable to comprehend how easily one could betray a loved one.
Two weeks later, Andrews birthday arrived. Veronica set the table, invited the sons and Maxs wife. Poppy was the last to appear, a small parcel in her hands. She greeted everyone, handed her father a present.
Here you go.
Andrew unwrapped it: a plain shaving kit. No sentiment, no warmthjust a generic token for an acquaintance.
Poppy sat down but barely touched the food. She answered in monosyllables, her jaw clenched, her fork trembling. Veronica saw the strain in her daughters face, the cold in her eyes.
Poppy, you havent even wished me a proper happy birthday. Why so silent? Andrew asked.
Poppy set her cup down slowly, stared at him with a stare that held no affection, only chill.
Happy birthday, Mr. Andrew.
Veronica froze. From the day Andrew adopted her, Poppy had always called him Dad. Now she used his name and patronymic.
Andrew paled, his cup hovering midair. Max and Ethan exchanged looks but said nothing.
I wish you many more years, Poppy continued, her voice flat. May you be happy with your boys. May everything work out for you.
She grabbed her bag, gave Veronica a nod, and headed for the door. Veronica lunged after her, catching up at the entrance.
Poppy, wait!
Poppy turned, tears welling, then spilling over her cheeks. She tried to wipe them away with her hand, shoulders shaking.
Mum, its not about the flat. Ill buy my own place, I can manage. I thought he loved me, that he saw me as his own daughter. But nohis sons mean more to him. Im just a spare part now. Ive learned my lesson, and I wont pretend anythings changed.
Veronica reached for her, but Poppy stepped back.
I have to go. See you later, Mum.
Poppy left, and Veronica stood alone in the hallway, the house cracking around her. The man shed trusted, the man shed called father, had wounded her only child.
She went back to the bedroom. Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Veronica raised a hand.
Enough. The talking is over.
She turned and walked to the bedroom, flopped onto the bed, face pressed into the pillow, and wept. The tears rushed out, hot and relentless. For the first time in years she allowed herself to simply crycry for the daughter betrayed, for the family shattered.
A week later Veronica spoke barely a word to Andrew. Inside, a plan formed, clear as a bell.
Im selling the house, she said.
Andrew choked on his tea.
What? Why?
Ill buy a onebedroom flat and give the rest to Poppy. Because I can.
Youve gone mad! he shouted, setting his cup down. We still have space in the threebedroom house, and soon the grandchildren will need room! How will we live in a onebedroom?
Ive decided. You have no say. I stayed silent while you sold your own home!
Andrew kept drinking, trying to sway her, but Veronicas resolve was iron.
The house sold quickly. Veronica secured a tidy onebedroom in the same neighbourhood, completed the paperwork, transferred the remaining money to Poppy, and drove to her daughters doorstep.
Poppy opened the door, froze, then let the floodgates break. She threw herself into Veronicas arms, sobbing.
Mum, why? Youre living in a onebedroom now!
Veronica held her tight, running her fingers through Poppys hair, planting a kiss on her crown. Tears streamed down both their facesnow tears of relief.
Maybe to Andrew Ive become a stranger, Veronica whispered, but to you Ill always be the little princess, my only daughter. Ill love you until the end of my days. Always, hear me?
They remained locked in an embrace, crying together. Poppy rested her head on Veronicas shoulder, while Veronicas hand gently rubbed her back, soothing her. They stayed like that for a long time, unwilling to let go.
Poppy never mended her relationship with Andrew. She stopped visiting, stopped calling, and only kept contact with Veronica, who now made the trips herself. At least Veronica knew her daughter was no longer abandonedshe had saved her from being forgotten.
