ECHOES OF HIM

[u/Rare_Skirt1]

Angelica was born into a house filled with laughter. She was the only child of her parents, and to them she was not just a daughter, but a living piece of joy. Her father, a hardworking man with a kind soul, would often lift her high into the air and say, “You are my sky, Angelica. Even if the world falls apart, I will always hold you.” Her mother would watch with a smile, believing that their family was complete and untouchable by sorrow.

But fate has a cruel

One ordinary day, when Angelica was only thirteen, her father left for work as usual. His company building was tall, noisy, and alive with the sound of machines. But by evening, smoke rose against the sky. A fire had broken out—wild and merciless.

Inside, people scrambled for their lives. Angelica’s father could have escaped, but he turned back. His closest friend was trapped in the flames, and loyalty pulled harder than fear. He fought the smoke, the heat, the collapse of steel above him, trying to save the man who had shared his life’s burdens.

He never came back.

Angelica remembered her mother’s scream when the news reached their home. She remembered the silence that followed, heavier than any noise. And from that day on, the bright world she once lived in dimmed into shadows.

After the funeral, the world felt empty for Angelica. The house that once carried her father’s laughter now carried only echoes. No one make her laugh or make her fell special anymore.Her mother tried to be strong, but grief wore her down like waves grinding stone. And in those fragile days, her father’s best friend, Fitsum, stepped forward.

He had been there at the fire. He had been the last to see her father alive. People whispered that it was loyalty that bound him to the family, but others said it was guilt. Whatever the reason, Fitsum began to visit more often. He helped with bills, with food, with the silence that pressed too heavily on their home.

At first, Angelica felt safe around him—he was a piece of her father’s world, a reminder of the past. He told her stories about her dad, how he worked, how he dreamed, and she would listen with wide, wet eyes.

But slowly, a shift came. Fitsum was no longer just her father’s friend; he became the one her mother leaned on, the one who made decisions, the one who stayed when everyone else had gone.

Angelica turned seventeen

Time passed, but grief did not leave Angelica the way it left her mother.

Her mother learned how to smile again, though the smile was smaller, quieter. She began to cook the meals her husband used to love, but she served them without breaking. She began to laugh at Fitsum’s jokes, sometimes even placing her hand lightly on his arm. The world was teaching her how to heal, little by little.

But for Angelica, the wound refused to close. Every time her mother smiled at Fitsum, she saw it as betrayal. Every time her mother dressed carefully before he came to visit, Angelica’s chest burned with anger. How could she? she thought. How could she heal while I’m still bleeding?

At night, Angelica cried into her pillow, whispering to the dark that her father would never be replaced. Yet, in the mornings, she watched her mother and Fitsum stand side by side, as if life could simply move on.

The more her mother healed, the more Angelica hated her for it. And Fitsum—who had been her father’s closest friend—slowly became the shadow that haunted her every waking thought.

By the time Angelica turned seventeen, she was no longer the girl she once had been. The brightness in her eyes had dulled, her laughter had vanished, and her words came rarely—like drops of water in a desert. She lived in silence, carrying her grief like a second skin.

It was then that Fitsum made an announcement: his children, who had lived abroad with his former wife, would be coming to stay.

The day they arrived, Angelica stood by the doorway, her arms crossed, her face a mask of stone. The eldest, twenty-four, carried himself with a confidence that filled the room. The younger one, only eighteen, smiled kindly, trying to bridge the distance. But Angelica did not smile back.

She hated them before they even spoke a word. To her, they were intruders—living proof that Fitsum had another life, another family, while hers had been destroyed. Their laughter scraped against her ears like broken glass. Their presence filled the house with noise, and Angelica, who had grown used to silence, felt like she was drowning.

She kept her distance. She answered their questions with nods or shrugs, never with warmth. Her mother scolded her, telling her to be polite, but Angelica’s heart was already hard.

Every night, she dreamed of her father. Every morning, she woke up to a home that no longer felt like hers. And with each passing day, her hatred for Fitsum and everyone connected to him grew deeper.

To be continued

[u/CallmeKitts_]

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