She Begged Through Tears, But I Refuse to Be His Shadow

The day we visited her late husband's grave for the anniversary of his death, my mother-in-law saw me wiping down the headstone, stormed over, and slapped me twice across the face.
“How dare you touch Arthur’s things! You’re filthy!”
Stella wrapped a steadying arm around her mother. “Mom’s not feeling well today, Caleb,” she said to me. “Why don’t you wait in the car?”
Not, Are you okay? Not, Mom, don’t hit him. Just an order to make myself scarce.
I never imagined two slaps could be my salvation.
We’d been living together for two years, and a massive solo portrait of her late husband in his wedding tuxedo still dominated the living room wall. Our own wedding photo was buried at the bottom of a storage box.
My rebellious stepdaughter, Zoe, was a broken record. “My daddy’s BBQ ribs were way better than this. You shouldn’t even be allowed to make them.”
My mother-in-law forced me to learn the dead man’s recipes, calling me clumsy and useless when I failed to replicate them perfectly.
And Stella? Every time, it was the same placid response. “Please try to be more understanding. Zoe’s just a child. She doesn’t know any better.”
It took me until today to finally understand. It wasn't that I wasn't good enough. It was that this family never had a place for me to begin with.
I pushed myself up from the ground, my teeth clenched. My legs had gone numb, and I limped away from the grave. Behind me, I could hear her mother’s sobs and Stella’s low, comforting murmurs.
Back in the car, I finally noticed my hands were trembling.
Through the window, I watched Stella pull her mother into a gentle embrace, her mother’s head resting on her shoulder as she cried her heart out. Stella held her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the world.
I tore my eyes away and stared blankly at the steering wheel.
My left cheek burned with a fiery sting. I probed the inside of my cheek with my tongue and tasted copper.
An hour passed before Stella finally got in. She didn't look at me, just started the car. “Caleb, my mom… she gets very emotional today. Don’t take it to heart.”
I said nothing.
“She’s like this every year on this day. You just have to… be more understanding.”
“Stella.” I turned to face her. “This isn’t the first time your mother has hit me.”
Last year, on this same day, she threw the flowers I’d brought into the trash and called me shameless. The year before that, during a Thanksgiving dinner, she announced to a room full of relatives that I was a vulture, preying on a grieving widow.
She was silent for a few seconds, then pulled a wet wipe from her pocket and handed it to me. “You’ve got some dirt on your face. Clean it up.”
Not, I’m sorry. Not, I’ll talk to Mom.
Just a command to wipe my face clean and pretend nothing happened.
I took the wipe, the cool moisture a stark contrast to my burning skin, and slowly cleaned away the flecks of mud. The car window reflected my swollen left cheek and a small cut at the corner of my mouth.
“Caleb, I’ll treat you to a nice dinner sometime soon, to make up for it.”
She thought a single meal could erase everything.
I folded the used wipe neatly in my palm. “No need. Let’s just go home. Zoe’s waiting.”
Stella let out a small sigh of relief, probably thinking I was easy to appease, as always. She turned on the stereo, and the familiar notes of a piano filled the car. Für Elise.
It was Arthur’s favorite piece to play.
Her eyes softened, her lips humming along unconsciously as her head swayed gently with the melody. Staring at her profile, she felt like a complete stranger.
Did I really know this woman at all?
Halfway home, her phone rang. It was her mother.
“Mom, are you home yet?”
“Mm, I know… Don’t worry, I’ll come over tonight to stay with you.”
“Caleb? Oh, he’s fine. He’s doing just fine.”
Just fine.
I turned my head to the window, watching the city blur past. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new text message.
Ava: Thinking of you today. Hope that doesn’t sound weird… Anyway, take care.
I stared at those two words. Take care.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally just locked the phone and put it away.
When we pulled into our neighborhood, Stella killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt.
“Caleb, I need to stay at my mom’s tonight. I’m worried about her being alone.”
“Okay.”
“There’s food in the fridge. You and Zoe can make something simple.”
“Alright.”
She paused. “You know, I should take you shopping for some new clothes. Your whole wardrobe is just black, white, and gray. It’s too drab.”
I looked down at the gray sweater I was wearing. The one she’d bought me last year. Back then, she’d said the color made me look dependable, perfect for a teacher. Now, she was tired of it.
“It’s fine. I have enough clothes.”
The elevator ride was silent, filled only by the hum of the machinery. Stella stood beside me, then reached out as if to touch my swollen cheek.
I flinched away instinctively.
Her hand froze in mid-air. She let it drop, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Uh… does it still hurt? You should put some ice on it when we get inside.”
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open.
I stepped out first, pulling out my keys to unlock our front door.
The lights were on. Zoe was curled up on the sofa watching TV, her homework spread across the coffee table.
“Mommy!” She leaped up the moment she saw Stella, throwing herself into her arms. “You’re finally back! I’ve been waiting forever!”
Stella knelt and ruffled her daughter’s hair. “Did you miss Mommy and Daddy?”
“Uh-huh!” Zoe nodded vigorously, then her eyes darted to me. Her voice dropped. “Mr. Evans is back, too.”
She never called me Dad. Not even Caleb. Just Mr. Evans, my professional title.
I slipped off my shoes and walked into the kitchen.
The fridge held the pork ribs and vegetables I’d bought this morning. I took them out and started washing them, preparing dinner. From the living room, I could hear them talking.
“So, how was school today, sweetie?”
“It was okay. I got a 95 on my math test.”
“That’s amazing! You did even better than last time.”
“Hehe. Daddy always said I was the smartest.”
“Yes, he did. Your daddy was right.”
My hand, holding the cleaver, paused for a beat. I brought it down, the heavy blade thudding against the cutting board.
“Mommy, when are we going to visit Daddy? I miss him.”
“How about tomorrow? Mommy will take you tomorrow.”
“Is… Mr. Evans coming?”
“…No. He’ll be busy.”
I wasn’t busy. I just wasn’t invited.
After seasoning the ribs, I felt a presence behind me. Stella was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching me.
“Caleb, why don’t you take a break? I can just order some takeout.”
“It’s fine. I’m almost done.”
“Your face is so swollen. You don’t have to push yourself.” She stepped forward, reaching for the bowl in my hands, but I shifted away.
“I said, I’m almost done.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She retreated back to the living room.
For dinner, I made sweet and sour ribs, stir-fried pork with peppers, and a simple tomato and egg soup.
As I set the dishes on the table, Zoe wrinkled her nose.
“Why are the ribs sweet and sour?”
“What’s wrong with them?” Stella asked.
“I don’t like sweet and sour,” Zoe pouted. “Daddy made BBQ ribs. They were a hundred times better than this.”
I sat down and put a piece of my own cooking into my mouth. It was a little too sweet. Not enough vinegar.
“Zoe, don’t be picky,” Stella said, her tone mild.
“But it’s true! They’re not good!” Zoe slammed her fork down. “Daddy made—”
“But your daddy isn’t here anymore,” I interrupted.
The air in the room instantly froze.
Zoe’s eyes went wide. Stella’s face darkened.
“Caleb Evans, what did you just say?”
I lifted my head, my gaze calm and steady. “I said, Arthur is gone. He’s been dead for four years.”
“Are you insane?” Stella shot up from her chair, its legs screeching against the floor. “Are you crazy? How could you say that in front of a child!”
Zoe let out a wail, clapping her hands over her ears as she scrambled off her chair and ran for her room. “I’m not listening! I’m not listening! Daddy’s not dead!”
SLAM!
The bedroom door shook in its frame.
Stella pointed a trembling finger at me. “Caleb, do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“I’m perfectly clear,” I said, setting down my fork. “Stella, we’ve been married for two years, and your daughter is still living in the shadow of her dead father. Do you think that’s normal?”
“She’s only nine!”
“And at nine, she should know that dead people don’t come back.”
“You—” She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re not yourself today. Just… go get some rest.”
She turned and walked to Zoe’s room, knocking softly. “Zoe, honey? Can Mommy come in?”
Muffled sobs came from inside.
Stella opened the door and slipped in. A moment later, I heard her gentle, cooing voice.
“I’m so sorry, baby, it’s all Mommy’s fault… Mr. Evans didn’t mean it… Don’t cry, sweetheart. How about Mommy takes you to Grandma’s house? Grandma will make you some of her famous BBQ ribs…”
I sat alone at the dining table, staring at the cooling food. The sweet and sour ribs gleamed under the light, a vibrant mix of red and green peppers. I picked up a piece and chewed it slowly.
It really wasn’t as good as Arthur’s.
I’d been hearing that for two years.
His BBQ ribs, with their rich sauce and fall-off-the-bone meat.
His garlic noodles, fragrant and perfectly chewy.
His every dish was the gold standard in this house.
And I was just the transfer student who could never pass the test.
Stella emerged from the room with Zoe in her arms. The little girl was still hiccupping, her face buried in her mother’s shoulder.
“Caleb, I’m taking Zoe to my mom’s.”
“Okay.”
“I won’t be back tonight.”
“Alright.”
She waited a few seconds, as if expecting me to protest, to ask her to stay.
I didn’t.
After they left, the silence in the apartment was deafening. I cleared the table, scraping the uneaten food into the trash. While washing the dishes, a splash of water hit the cut on my face, and I hissed in pain.
I dried my hands and took a slow walk through the living room.
On the media console sat Stella and Arthur’s wedding photo. It was a large, framed print, the dark wood polished and dust-free. In it, Arthur wore a white tuxedo, smiling brightly. Stella, in her wedding dress, gazed back at him, her eyes filled with nothing but him.
On the wall behind the sofa hung a portrait of the three of them. Zoe was just a baby, cradled in Stella’s arms while Arthur stood beside them, his hand resting on his wife’s shoulder.
The bookshelf displayed Arthur’s piano competition trophies.
The nightstand in our bedroom held the cologne he used to wear.
Even the shampoo in the shower was the brand he had always used.
I had lived in this house for two years, yet there wasn't a single trace of me anywhere. Even our wedding photo was locked away in a drawer because Stella said she was afraid seeing it would upset Zoe.
My phone buzzed again.
Ava: You there?
I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.
I typed a reply, deleted it. Typed another, and deleted that too.
Finally, I just called her.
“Hello?” Ava’s voice came through, a little surprised. “Caleb?”
“Ava.”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“What you said before… does the offer still stand?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“What offer?”
“You said if I ever wanted to leave, I could always come to you.”
“…”
“Ava, I’ve made up my mind.”
Another stretch of silence.
“Caleb, are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”
“No, don’t. I can get there myself.”
“Do you have the address?”
“Send it to me.”
“Alright.” She hesitated. “Caleb, are… are you okay?”
I glanced at my reflection in the dark screen of the TV—my face swollen, my expression hollow—and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“Okay. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After hanging up, I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
I had slept in this bed for two years. But every single night, I felt like an intruder.
Because this was Arthur’s bed.
This was Arthur’s room.
This was Arthur’s home.
And I was just a temporary guest.
The next morning, Stella hadn’t come back.
I got up, showered, and got dressed, just like any other day.
Except this time, I packed a suitcase.
The school was a forty-minute drive across town. I parked in the underground garage, took my suitcase, and rode the elevator up to the staff offices. A few of my colleagues were already there.
“Morning, Mr. Evans!” the young gym teacher called out.
“Morning.”
I walked to my desk, booted up my computer, and started typing my letter of resignation.
Mrs. Davis from the next desk over leaned in. “Mr. Evans, what are you doing?”
“I’m resigning.”
“What? Why? Everything’s been going so well for you here.”
I didn’t answer, focusing on the screen.
“Is everything okay at home?” Mrs. Davis lowered her voice. “I heard your wife works at a funeral home? That kind of job… it’s got to be a downer, right?”
I stopped typing and looked at her. “My wife’s profession is perfectly respectable, Mrs. Davis. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Oh, I was just making conversation. No offense meant,” she said, quickly retreating.
Once the letter was printed, I took it to the principal’s office.
“Mr. Evans, what is the meaning of this?” the principal said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Final exams are just around the corner. If you leave now, where am I supposed to find a replacement?”
“I’m sorry, Principal, but I don’t have a choice.”
“Trouble at home?”
“You could say that.”
He sighed. “Well, can’t you at least finish out the semester? It’s only one more month.”
“I can’t. I have to leave today.”
“You can be so stubborn!” he grumbled, tossing his pen onto the desk. “I won’t approve it!”
I just stood there, watching him quietly. After a moment, he let out another heavy sigh, picked up the pen, and signed the letter.
“Go to accounting and get your final paycheck. I’ll make sure they pay you for this month’s hours.”
“Thank you, Principal.”
As I walked out of his office, a wave of relief washed over me. Footsteps hurried behind me. It was Mrs. Davis.
“Mr. Evans, are you sure you’re alright, leaving in such a hurry?”
“I’m fine.”
“So, what are your plans now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out as I go.”
Mrs. Davis hesitated, then decided to say what was on her mind. “Look, Mr. Evans, I’m probably overstepping… but with your wife’s situation, it can’t be easy for you. If things are really that bad, you don’t have to force yourself to stay.”
I froze. “What situation?”
“You don’t know?” She glanced around before whispering, “At the last parent-teacher conference, I overheard some of the other parents talking. They said your wife goes to her late husband’s grave all the time. It’s common knowledge in your neighborhood.”
She leaned in closer. “Someone even said she still has his picture hanging in the living room, while yours is packed away… Mr. Evans, you’re a living, breathing man. Why are you letting them treat you like a ghost?”
I couldn’t find the words to respond.
“Anyway, it’s not my place,” Mrs. Davis said, patting my shoulder. “You take care of yourself.”
After finishing the paperwork, I drove to Ava’s veterinary clinic.
It was on the south side of town, a little out of the way, but the building was warm and inviting. A large sign with cartoon cats and dogs hung over the door: “The Healing Paw Pet Clinic.”
I pushed the door open, and the young woman at the reception desk looked up. “Hello, welcome to—Caleb?”
It took me a second to recognize her. “Katie?”
Katie was Ava’s younger cousin. I’d met her a few times back when we were all in college.
“It really is you!” she exclaimed, rushing out from behind the desk. “Ava said you might be coming today, but I didn’t believe her! What are you doing here? Is your cat sick?”
“I… I’m here to see your cousin.”
“Oh! Right, of course. She’s out back. I’ll take you!”
Katie led me through the exam rooms to a door that opened into a small, sunny yard. Ava was kneeling under a tree, gently examining an orange tabby cat. The sunlight caught in her hair, making her glow.
“Ava! Caleb’s here!”
She looked up, and a warm smile spread across her face. “You made it.”
“Yeah.”
She stood, brushing stray cat hair from her jeans as she walked toward me. Her eyes immediately fell on my face.
“What happened to your cheek?”
I unconsciously touched the swollen area. I’d used some of Stella’s foundation, trying carefully to cover the bruise, but it was still visible. “It’s nothing. I just bumped into something.”
Ava studied my face for a moment longer but didn’t press.
“Where’s your luggage?”
“In the car.”
“I’ll get it,” she said, then turned to her cousin. “Katie, can you go get the guest room on the second floor ready?”
“You got it!”
I followed Ava to the parking lot. She opened my trunk and saw the single suitcase inside.
“Is this it?”
“Yeah.”
She lifted it out, testing its weight. “It’s light.”
I didn’t say anything. Two years of my life, packed into one small suitcase. It felt about right.

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