Chapter 2

Cassandra's POV

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtain gaps into the living room as I sat on the sofa, holding Mom's favorite teacup.

I stood up, wanting to spend some time in Mom's art studio. It still held her warmth, her unfinished paintings, countless memories of our mother-daughter afternoons together.

But when I pushed open the studio door, I froze completely.

"Good morning, Cassie!"

Melody stood in front of the easel, wearing Mom's pale blue apron, organizing Mom's paintbrushes. I'd seen that apron countless times—Mom wore it every time she painted, still stained with accidental paint smudges.

"What... what are you doing?" My voice trembled.

Melody turned around with an innocent smile. "Theodore said I could stay here for a while. The light is perfect here, great for painting."

"This is Mom's studio." I practically gritted my teeth saying it.

"I know. Eleanor would want this room to be used properly, not left empty and sad," Melody said, picking up another brush to clean carefully. "These brushes she left behind are really good quality. I'll take good care of them."

My hands clenched into fists. Was she right? Mom indeed wouldn't want to see me wallowing in grief forever. But why did hearing these words hurt so much?

"Besides," Melody continued, "I feel like Eleanor is here with us, so warm, just like home."

Home? My heart lurched. This was my and Mom's home, our sacred space of memories. When did it become hers?

"Cassie? Are you okay?" Melody looked at me with concern.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "I'm fine. You... you enjoy the sunlight here."

With that, I turned and left.

Some time later, I heard the front door open—Blake had arrived. I quickly wiped away my tears, forcing a smile.

"Cassie, you look exhausted," Blake said, walking over to embrace me gently. "Your mom always praised how strong you were. You need to pull yourself together."

I leaned against his chest, finally finding some comfort. "I miss her, Blake. Every corner of this house has her presence, I..."

"Coffee's ready!" Melody emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray, wearing a sweet smile. "Two sugars—Blake should like it."

Blake's attention immediately shifted. He released our embrace and accepted the coffee cup Melody offered.

"Thank you, but you are...?"

"She's..." I started to answer, but Melody interrupted, "I'm his cousin, visiting for a few days to keep her company."

My heart sank heavily. Why wouldn't she tell the truth?

Blake looked at her approvingly. "You're really thoughtful."

I stood there feeling like an outsider. This was my home, I was the one who'd lost her mother, so why was everyone's attention on her?

I walked over to Mom's old sweater, her favorite cream-colored cashmere that still carried her scent. I held it close as tears betrayed me again.

"Cassie, you're crying again," Blake said with exasperation in his voice.

I looked up, hoping for comfort, but instead he walked toward Melody, patting her shoulder gently.

"You handle things better than Cassie—you don't make people worry," Blake said to Melody.

What? I stared at them in disbelief.

"I'm trying to be strong too," my voice caught. "It's just seeing Mom's things, I can't help..."

Blake sighed. "Life has to go on. I prefer the optimistic you."

I felt like I'd been punched in the chest. What did he mean? I'd lost my mother—why couldn't I grieve? Why did I have to learn from someone else how to act?

Melody timely lowered her head, looking guilty. "Maybe I should go back to my room."

"No, no," Blake quickly stopped her. "I misspoke. Melody, you did nothing wrong."

Then he turned to me, his tone becoming serious. "Cassie, this isn't working. You need to adjust your attitude."

My tears flowed harder. Why? Why was even my boyfriend criticizing me when I needed comfort most?

At dinner, the whole family sat around the table. Theodore and Marcus kept serving Melody food, asking what she liked to eat, if she was settling in well.

"Theodore," I gathered courage to speak, "Mom's birthday is coming up. I'd like to hold a small memorial service for her."

The table fell silent.

"A memorial service?" Theodore frowned. "This isn't the right time."

"Why isn't it the right time?" I argued. "We should honor her memory properly, let her know we haven't forgotten her."

Marcus put down his chopsticks, glancing at Melody. "But Melody just lost her parents. That kind of ceremony would upset her."

I looked at my brother in disbelief. "What about me? Didn't I lose my mother too?"

"Cassie, don't talk like that," Theodore's tone grew stern. "Melody's situation is more delicate. We can't make her more upset."

"Why is she more delicate?" My voice rose. "She's a guest, I'm your daughter! This is our home!"

"Cassandra!" Theodore slammed the table. "How can you say that? Eleanor was the kindest person—she'd want us to take care of Melody, not argue like this!"

Theodore's outburst stunned me, tears streaming down my face.

Melody then said quietly, "Uncle Theodore, if Cassandra wants a memorial service, I can stay in my room. I don't want to interfere."

"No need," Marcus immediately responded. "Melody, you don't need to avoid anything. We're family."

Family? My heart shattered. When did she become our family while I became the unreasonable outsider?

"Fine." I put down my chopsticks and stood up. "No memorial then. After all, her feelings matter more than anything else in this house now."

"What kind of talk is that?" Theodore glared at me.

I didn't answer, turning to go upstairs to my room. Through the window, I could see the living room below where they continued chatting happily as if nothing had happened.

Melody sat in Mom's favorite spot, wearing Mom's apron, using Mom's teacup, basking in the whole family's affection.

And I, Mom's actual daughter, was treated like the unreasonable villain.

I sat on my bed hugging my knees, tears flowing endlessly. Mom, can you see this? You've only been gone eight days, and this house has already changed. No one mentions you anymore, no one cares about your daughter.

They all say I should be strong, optimistic, understanding like Melody. But why? I lost my mother—why don't I even have the right to grieve?

As night deepened outside, laughter from downstairs remained clear. I closed my eyes, feeling a loneliness I'd never experienced before.

Was this still my home? Were these still my family?

Everything had changed from the moment Melody appeared. Everything.