When I married Ben, I never imagined my life would take a turn like this. He was a widower with a five-year-old son, Lucas, and I thought it would be a smooth, simple transition for our little family. Lucas was a sweet boy, eager to call me “Mom,” which melted my heart every time. Ben and I had talked about his late wife, Rachel, and he assured me that it wasn’t something that would get in the way of our future together. I wanted to believe him, and for a while, everything was perfect.
But then, things started to get… strange.
It started one night when I tucked Lucas into bed. His little eyes were wide and searching, as if he was contemplating whether or not he should say something. I bent down to kiss his forehead, and as I pulled away, he whispered, barely audible, “MY REAL MOM STILL LIVES HERE.”
I froze. For a moment, I thought I must have misheard him. I laughed it off nervously, brushing it aside as a childish fantasy. Kids say odd things sometimes, right? I told him not to worry and kissed him goodnight, but that night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept turning over his words in my mind. What did he mean by that? Was he talking about his mom, Rachel? He’d never said anything like this before.
The next day, I tried to carry on as usual, but I couldn’t shake the unease. And then the strange occurrences started.
It was the toys at first. I’d clean up the living room, picking up all of Lucas’s scattered cars and blocks, only to find them exactly where I’d just put them hours later. At first, I thought it was Lucas just being a child—maybe he wasn’t as careful with his things as I thought. But then it happened again. And again.
I moved on, trying to ignore it, but it didn’t stop there. The kitchen cabinets would be rearranged. A jar of peanut butter that I distinctly remembered putting in the back corner of the pantry would be sitting on the counter. The dish towels I’d folded neatly would be unfolded, hanging crookedly from the oven handle. I began to question myself. Was I losing my mind?
The photo of Rachel was the most unsettling part. Ben had always kept a framed photo of her on the mantle in our living room. I respected that, and I understood why. But one day, I decided to move it to a new spot, just a little off-center to make the room feel fresher. It wasn’t anything personal, just my way of tidying up. But when I came back the next day, it was back in its original spot—perfectly dusted and positioned as if I hadn’t touched it at all.
I tried to speak to Ben about it, but he brushed me off, claiming I was just imagining things. “Everything’s fine, honey. Lucas is just remembering his mom. It’s normal for him to keep things the way they were.”
But it didn’t feel normal. Not at all.
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One afternoon, Lucas and I were playing together in the living room when he suddenly stopped. His eyes widened, and he glanced nervously toward the hallway. “Mom says you shouldn’t touch her things,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.
My heart raced. “What do you mean, sweetie?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly. My mind was already jumping to conclusions. Who was “Mom”? He had only ever called me “Mom”—was there another mom in the house?
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Lucas didn’t respond right away. He just kept staring down the hallway, as if he was afraid to look at me. Finally, he spoke again, barely above a whisper: “She doesn’t like it when you touch her stuff.”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. “What stuff?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
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Before Lucas could answer, Ben walked in from the kitchen, looking at me with an unreadable expression. I turned to him, desperate for an explanation. “Ben… what is going on? What does Lucas mean? What’s happening in this house?”
Ben looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and then, with a resigned look in his eyes, he finally spoke.
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“I didn’t want to tell you this, not like this, but…” His voice trailed off, and I could tell there was something more to the story than I’d ever been told.
“Tell me what?” I asked, my breath coming in short bursts.
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Ben looked at the floor for a long time before he said the words I had been dreading to hear. “Rachel… she never really left. She’s still here. Her spirit, I mean. I didn’t want you to be scared or feel like you weren’t welcome, so I never said anything. But Lucas… he sees her, just like I do sometimes.”
My blood ran cold. It was like the floor dropped out beneath me. I didn’t know how to respond. I was standing there, frozen, trying to make sense of the impossible truth Ben had just revealed.
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“You mean—Rachel’s spirit is still in this house?” I asked in a shaky voice.
Ben nodded, his face full of guilt. “She was so attached to this place. She didn’t want to leave. I tried to move on, but I knew she couldn’t rest, not fully, until I let go of this house and all the memories. I didn’t want to tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you.”
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The room seemed to close in around me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This wasn’t the life I had imagined for us—this wasn’t how I thought things would go. I loved Ben, I loved Lucas, but this… this was too much.
“Is she still here now?” I whispered.
Ben looked towards the hallway, his expression distant. “She’s always here. But she’s not… she doesn’t mean any harm. She just wants to be seen. She just wants to know that we remember her.”
I stood in silence, trying to process everything he had just said. This wasn’t a marriage I’d signed up for, and it wasn’t the life I thought I was building. But as I looked at Lucas, his innocent face full of fear and uncertainty, I knew I had to find a way to make peace with the strange new reality we were all living in. The real question now was: How could I ever truly become his mom when someone else’s ghost was still haunting our home?