Quando minha nova madrasta insistiu que eu começasse a chamá-la de “mãe”, não discuti — apenas observei e esperei. Ela achou que poderia ocupar o lugar da minha mãe da noite para o dia. No aniversário dela, dei exatamente o que ela pediu.
Estava quieto. Quieto demais.
Um menino fazendo o dever de casa | Fonte: Pexels
Papai estava sentado à mesa, folheando o jornal como fazia todos os sábados. Não emitia nenhum som, nem mesmo ao virar a página. Apenas o farfalhar do papel e o tique-taque do relógio na parede.
Sentei-me no sofá, tentando não me mexer muito. Ele detestava barulho de manhã.
“Você tem lição de casa?” ele perguntou, com os olhos ainda na página.
“É”, eu disse. “Falo depois.”
Um homem lendo um jornal | Fonte: Pexels
“Não espere até o último minuto.”
“Não vou.”
Só isso. Ele não perguntou qual matéria ou se eu precisava de ajuda. Nunca perguntou. Disse que se eu não conseguisse resolver sozinha, é porque não tinha prestado atenção na aula.
Olhei para a minha mão. A cicatriz na minha articulação ainda estava lá. Eu a fiz quando caí da bicicleta. Eu devia ter uns seis ou cinco anos.
Um menino tímido escondendo o rosto | Fonte: Pexels
Naquela hora, eu chorei. Ele ficou em pé ao meu lado e disse: “Você não vai morrer. Garotos se machucam. Levante-se.”
Eu fiz.
Quando eu tinha pesadelos, eu ia até a porta dele. Ele nunca saía da cama. Só dizia: “Volte a dormir, Jason. Você está bem.” Então parei de bater.
Eu nunca pedia brinquedos ou roupas novas, a menos que as minhas tivessem buracos. Eu sabia que não pedia.
Um menino triste brincando | Fonte: Pexels
Mesmo assim, eu o respeitava. Ele trabalhava duro. Ele nos alimentava. Ele aparecia em todos os eventos da escola. Só não falava muito.
Fui até a estante. Não tínhamos muitas fotos, mas encontrei a pequena lá no fundo. Uma foto minha, talvez com uns quatro anos, sentada nos ombros dele. Nós dois tínhamos um meio sorriso estranho. Parecia raro. Estranho.
Um pai e seu filho | Fonte: Pexels
Sorri um pouco e então ouvi passos atrás de mim. Foi naquele dia que ela voltou. Eu tinha sete anos quando a vi pela primeira vez.
Papai abriu a porta, mas eu espiei pelo lado dele.
Ela estava ali, segurando uma sacola de presente azul-choque. Seus olhos estavam arregalados. Meio lacrimejantes. Seu sorriso era largo demais.
“Oi, Jason”, ela disse. Sua voz tremeu.
Uma mulher sorridente contra uma parede de tijolos | Fonte: Pexels
“Quem é esse?” perguntei.
Ela se agachou, ainda segurando a sacola. “Sou eu, querida. Sou Jéssica, sua mãe.”
Olhei para o papai.
Ele cruzou os braços. “Ela queria te ver.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to say. I’d seen pictures, sure. Heard a few stories. I knew she wasn’t ready to be a mom when I got born. She was a ghost to me.
A shocked boy | Source: Freepik
“I got you something,” she said. “It’s not much. Just… I thought you might like it.”
She held the bag out. I took it. Inside was a small stuffed turtle. Green with a soft shell. I still have it.
“Thanks,” I said.
Dad cleared his throat. “You can stay for lunch.”
A serious man with his arms crossed | Source: Pexels
She looked surprised. “Really? That’s okay?”
He didn’t answer. Just walked to the kitchen.
That was the start.
After that, she came by more often. Sometimes she took me out. Once to the zoo. Once to an aquarium. I remember the jellyfish. They glowed under the lights, like slow balloons.
People in an aquarium | Source: Pexels
“Do you like drawing?”
I didn’t know how to answer half of them. No one ever asked me that stuff before. But I liked it.
We painted once. She told me it didn’t matter if it was messy.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” she said.
I looked at the blue streak I made across the paper. “Dad doesn’t like messes.”She laughed a lot. Asked me questions. “What’s your favorite color?” “What books do you like?”
A boy drawing with his mom | Source: Pexels
She smiled softly. “Well, I’m not your dad.”
We started texting, even when she wasn’t around.
Me:Got an A in spelling.
Her:That’s amazing! So proud of you!
Me:I miss the turtles.
Her:Let’s go see them this weekend.
A young boy texting on his phone | Source: Pexels
Dad didn’t say much about her visits. But he didn’t stop them either. Once, I saw him and her talking on the porch. He wasn’t yelling. She was smiling. He even nodded at something she said.
That felt like a win.
Things were okay. For a while, anyway. Then, Kate, my father’s new wife, showed up.
A young woman sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
I got home from school and walked into the kitchen. Kate was standing at the counter, lining up plates like she was preparing for a cooking show. She had on this big smile—too big—and her lipstick was a shade of red that didn’t belong in a kitchen.
“There you are!” she said. “Just in time. Can you help me set the table, sweetie?”
I dropped my bag by the door.
“Sure.”
A teenager in a coat | Source: Freepik
“Make sure you save a seat for Mom,” she said, pointing to herself with both hands like I might forget who she meant.
I paused for a second. My hands were already reaching for the plates, but I stopped.
“Sure,” I said, keeping my face straight. “I’ll set a spot for Kate.”
Her smile twitched. Not much, just a little. Then, she started massaging her temples.
A woman touching her temples | Source: Pexels
Dinner was quiet except for her talking. She talked about the new throw pillows she bought, the kind of cake she liked, and how her birthday was coming up soon.
“Can’t believe it’s just around the corner,” she said, sipping her water. “I wonder what everyone’s planning for me.” She looked right at me when she said it.
I didn’t say anything. Dad was chewing slowly, not looking at either of us.
A man eating dinner | Source: Freepik
“Oh, and you know,” she added, “I’ve never heard someone call me ‘Mom’ before. Bet it would sound really nice coming from you. I’m your full-time mom now, you know.”
I stabbed my broccoli and kept chewing, even though my eyes were stinging. Dad shot me a look — the kind that made it clear tears weren’t allowed.
Later that night, I texted Jessica.
A teenager texting on his phone | Source: Pexels
Me: She wants me to call her “Mom.” She doesn’t even know what cereal I like.
Jessica: She hasn’t earned it. But you’ll handle it.
And I would.
Her birthday came the next week. I knocked on her door early that morning.
She opened it, still in her robe. “Jason? Everything okay?”
A bewildered woman rubbing her tample | Source: Freepik
I smiled wide. “Happy birthday, Mom!”
She blinked. Then smiled back, brighter than I’d ever seen. “Oh, thank you, sweetie! That means the world to me.”
“I was hoping you could make my favorite birthday breakfast.”
She looked confused. “Your what?”
“You know. The one we had every year since I was little?”
A teenage boy with a cup of coffee | Source: Freepik
“Uh… right. That one.” She rubbed her temple. “What was in it again?”
I tilted my head. “Come on. You’re my full-time mom. Aren’t you supposed to know?”
She laughed awkwardly. “Well, let me just surprise you.”
Ten minutes later, I had scrambled pancakes. I ate them without complaining. Took a photo and sent it to Jessica.
A boy having breakfast | Source: Freepik
Me: Breakfast chaos. She made scrambled pancakes.
At school, I started my next part of the plan.
Me (to Kate): Got an A on my essay, Mom!
No reply.
Me: Feeling sleepy after gym. Should I get the burrito or the sandwich?
A boy texting on his phone | Source: Pexels
Still nothing.
Me: French quiz went okay. We’re watching a movie in class now. 🙂
Ten minutes later, she replied: “Good job.”
I kept going. Every class period. Every lunch break. Every moment.
By fourth period, she wrote: “Busy right now.”
By sixth: “Jason. I’m in a meeting.”
A frowning woman texting on her phone | Source: Freepik
By the end of the day: “Jason, stop. I’m not your babysitter!”
I smiled.
That afternoon, I faked a stomachache in the nurse’s office and got sent home early. Kate was on her laptop when I walked in.
“Back already?” she said.
A teenage boy on his couch | Source: Freepik
“I don’t feel good.”
“Oh. Well… go lie down, okay? I’ve got a Zoom call in five.”
I dropped onto the couch with a groan. “Could you make me some ginger tea? Jessica always does when I’m sick.”
She turned in her chair. “Jason, I really don’t have time. I’ve got slides to review. Maybe later.”
I nodded slowly. “Full-time moms don’t clock out.”
An annoyed woman with her arms crossed | Source: Freepik
She stared at me for a moment. Then turned back to her screen without saying anything.
That night, Dad told us we were having a family meeting after dinner. Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist.
I knew what it was about. I just didn’t expect what came next.
Dinner was quiet. Forks clinked. No one said much. Then, Dad set his napkin down and looked at me.
A quiet family dinner | Source: Pexels
“Let’s settle this,” he said. “Jason, it’s time you called Kate what she is.”
I took a breath. “I—”
Kate held up her hand. “Wait. I need to say something first.”
Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.
A serious woman talking | Source: Pexels
“I pushed too hard,” she said. “I wanted that word—’Mom’—because I thought it meant I belonged. I thought if you called me that, I’d finally feel important here.”
She looked down at her plate, then back at me.
“But I skipped the part where I earned it. Jessica’s a great mother. I’m not trying to replace her.”
A woman looking down | Source: Pexels
I stared at her. For once, she wasn’t acting. She was just being real. Dad said nothing. But I saw something shift in his face. Like respect.
I nodded slowly. “Thank you. I don’t know what to call you yet. But I appreciate that.”
Later that night, I texted my real Mom.
Me: It’s over. She apologized. Didn’t expect that.
Jessica: You handled it with heart. I’m proud of you.
A man holding his phone | Source: Pexels
I smiled, then changed Kate’s contact.
Kate (Stepmom)
Some words you don’t say because you’re told. You say them when they’re true.
A smiling teenage boy holding his phone | Source: Pexels
Gina passou anos economizando para o casamento dos seus sonhos, só para chegar cedo e encontrar outra noiva em seu altar. Sua irmã. Roubando seu espaço. Roubando seu momento. Mas Gina não vai se safar. O que se segue é uma batalha de audácia, carma e a derradeira queda do casamento.
Esta obra é inspirada em eventos e pessoas reais, mas foi ficcionalizada para fins criativos. Nomes, personagens e detalhes foram alterados para proteger a privacidade e enriquecer a narrativa. Qualquer semelhança com pessoas reais, vivas ou mortas, ou eventos reais é mera coincidência e não é intencional do autor.
O autor e a editora não se responsabilizam pela precisão dos eventos ou pela representação dos personagens e não se responsabilizam por qualquer interpretação errônea. Esta história é fornecida “como está” e quaisquer opiniões expressas são dos personagens e não refletem a visão do autor ou da editora.
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