Dowager

The massive oak door of the manor creaked open, revealing a hallway lined with portraits of a glamorous past. Emily stepped in, taking a deep breath of dust and memories. She glanced around, half-expecting to see her mother flitting about, still trying to impress the shadows.

“Emily! Is that you?” A voice echoed from the parlor, a rich, velvety tone tinged with something brittle.

“It’s me, Mama,” Emily replied, forcing a smile. “You look… radiant.”

“Radiant!” her mother, Lydia, exclaimed, striding into view. At eighty, she wore layers of attire that sparkled more than her eyes. “The cut of this dress is divine, isn’t it?”

“Very… classic,” Emily murmured. “But you know, less can be more.”

“Mmm, dear, I do wish you'd learn the art of subtlety. One must always shine!” Lydia twirled, the fabric floating around her like a puff of vanity.

Emily remembered the days of her childhood, where her mother's laughter rang through the halls, even if it echoed a touch hollow. “It’s nice to be back,” she finally said, stepping further into the room.

“Oh, darling,” Lydia said, her tone softening, “you always did have a way of making it feel like home. What can I do for you?”

“Just checking in. I—”

“Checking in?” Lydia interrupted, her brow knitting. “Is that what you call it? Or are you just here to criticize? Is it the new hair?”

“What hair?” Emily smirked, her fingers brushing over her mother’s meticulously styled locks. “You may want to consider a change. You know, just for a fresh look.”

“Fresh?” Lydia laughed, though there was a sharpness behind her amusement. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, dear. Besides, I’ve always believed in enhancing the beauty that’s already there.”

“Enhancing,” Emily echoed lightly. “Right. But maybe, just maybe, accepting time’s passage might be… liberating?”

“Liberating?” Lydia scoffed. “I have no intention of becoming a shadow of my former self!”

Silence hung between them, thick like the layers of silk on Lydia’s dress.

“Mother,” Emily’s voice softened, “how long do you plan to hide here, behind these walls? Don’t you want… real connection?”

Lydia’s eyes flickered, dark brown pools overshadowed by the glamor she clung to. “Connection? I was adored,” she hissed. “All those parties, the laughter, the admiration! The world isn’t kind, my dear. It’s cruel.”

“Cruel because you made it so, Mama,” Emily whispered. “You chose to wear your worth like a crown, demanding praise rather than offering love.”

“How dare you!” Lydia exclaimed, her face flushing. “You think you know me? You reflect a version of me that’s cruel in itself!”

“Do I?” Emily challenged, crossing her arms. “Were you ever really loved, or were you simply an audience for your own performance?”

“What do you know about love?” Lydia spat back. “You with your boring life outside these walls. This place has history, prestige!”

“Prestige that’s crumbled into dust, and you refuse to see it,” Emily said, her voice firm. “You hide from yourself in this mansion, drowning in fantasies. Just look around you!”

Lydia turned her back, staring out the expansive window where the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the lawn. “Why can’t you see the beauty in preserving who I was?”

“Because, Mama, who you were isn’t who you are anymore! You’ve focused on a façade, and we want the real you—flaws and all!”

For a moment, the room was silent. The grandfather clock ticked steadily, a reminder of the relentless march of time.

“I have been hollow, haven’t I?” Lydia whispered, her fingers trailing subtly over her reflection in the glass.

“Yes. And you’ve hurt those you claimed to love.” Emily’s voice softened. “But it’s not too late to change. You can start by embracing truth over illusion.”

Lydia’s gaze drifted from her reflection to her daughter’s earnest visage. “What if I fall?”

“I’ll catch you,” Emily promised, stepping closer. “But you must be willing. We can face what’s inside, together.”

And for the first time, the weight of years began to shift. In that grand, echoing manor, an ancient echo of laughter began to ripple, gentle like the breeze weaving through the trees outside.

With a sigh, Lydia turned, the layers of pretense slipping away just a little. “Alright,” she conceded, a hesitant smile gracing her lips. “Let’s start anew, shall we?”

“Together,” Emily affirmed, hope blossoming in her heart as she reached for her mother’s hand.

As the shadows danced around them, a new story began to take shape—one where beauty would no longer be a mask but a reflection of true love and connection.

Julie O’Hara

THANK YOU for reading my work. I am a global nomad/permanent traveler, or Coddiwombler, if you will, and I move from place to place about every three months. I am currently in Chile and from there, who knows – probably Argentina? I enjoy writing articles, stories, songs and poems about life, spirituality and my travels. You can find my songs linked below. Feel free to like and subscribe on any of the platforms. And if you are inspired to, tips are always appreciated, but not necessary. I just like sharing.

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