Fractured Ties

The house was quiet when Zara returned from school, her bag hanging loosely over her shoulder. The faint scent of coffee and baked cookies lingered in the air, a reminder of her mom's predictable afternoons. Zara stepped inside, letting the door click softly behind her.

"Mom?" she called out, her voice echoing through the house.

"In here, sweetheart!" Clara's voice came from the living room, light and cheerful.

Zara hesitated for a moment before walking toward the sound. She rounded the corner—and froze.

Her mother sat on the couch, laughing at something Greg had said. Their bodies were angled toward each other, closer than Zara had seen her mom with anyone since her dad's death. Greg's hand rested casually on the back of the couch, just inches away from Clara's shoulder.

Zara's chest tightened. "What's going on here?"

Clara turned, her smile faltering. "Oh, Zara, you're home early."

"That doesn't answer my question," Zara said, her tone sharper than she intended.

Greg stood up, his expression neutral but his eyes wary. "I was just leaving," he said, grabbing his coat. "We'll talk later, Clara."

Zara stepped aside to let him pass, her arms crossed over her chest. Once the door closed, she turned back to her mom. "Care to explain?"

Clara sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Greg and I were just talking."

"Talking?" Zara repeated, disbelief etched on her face. "It didn't look like just talking."

"Zara—" Clara began, but Zara cut her off.

"Do you even care about Dad anymore?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Clara's eyes widened, hurt flashing across her face. "Of course I do. But your father's gone, Zara. I can't change that."

Zara shook her head, backing away. "You didn't even wait a year. It's like he never mattered to you."

"That's not fair," Clara said, her voice firm now. "You don't know what I've been through, Zara. Losing him, raising you alone, trying to keep us afloat—"

"And this is your solution?" Zara snapped, tears welling in her eyes. "To replace him?"

"Greg isn't a replacement," Clara said, her tone softening. "He's... an old friend. Someone who understands me."

Zara scoffed. "An old friend. Right. Well, good for you, Mom. Glad you're moving on so easily."

She turned and stormed up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door shut behind her.

Later that evening, as Zara sat on her bed scrolling aimlessly through her phone, a notification popped up—a text from an unknown number.

"Zara, it's Adeyemi. I heard about what happened today. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Zara frowned, her fingers hovering over the screen. Adeyemi had been a comforting presence since he'd arrived in town, always ready with kind words and fatherly advice.

She hesitated for a moment before typing back: "How did you know?"

The response came quickly. "Clara told me. She's worried about you, but she doesn't know how to help. I thought maybe I could."

Zara stared at the message, her emotions swirling. Was this what she needed—a father figure to step in where her real one had left a gaping void?