It had been a year since his wife passed away. Cancer took her quickly, leaving behind three daughters and a man who still couldn’t look at the empty side of the bed without feeling something inside him cave in.

His name was Elias Carter, a wealthy businessman, quiet and respected. To everyone else, he was a picture of control. But behind closed doors, the house felt empty. The laughter that once filled it was gone.

His father, a man of traditions and pride, didn’t like what grief had done to him.

“You have daughters,” his father said firmly one evening. “They need a mother. You need a wife. Enough mourning.”

Elias said nothing, but the silence meant he would obey. That’s how you came into his life.

The first time you stepped into the mansion, his daughters stared at you like you didn’t belong.

Lian, sixteen, stood tall beside the stairs, her arms crossed. “So you’re the new wife?” she asked. Her voice had no warmth. You gave her a polite nod. “Yes. You must be Lian.”

She didn’t respond.

Ariana, thirteen, didn’t even try to hide her annoyance. “Dad didn’t even ask us what we think,” she muttered, brushing past you.

And Yasmine, the youngest only seven hid behind her sister’s leg, clutching her doll and refusing to meet your eyes.

Elias stood behind you the whole time, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. “Go to your rooms,” he said quietly. The girls obeyed, though not happily.

You turned to him, trying to keep your voice steady. “They’ll need time. I understand.”

He looked at you for a long second before replying. “They’ve already lost one mother. Don’t expect them to accept another easily.”

You nodded. “I’m not trying to replace her.”

“Good,” he said simply. His tone wasn’t cruel. It was just cold, like someone who had forgotten how to be gentle.

Weeks turned into months. Elias never raised his voice, but his silence was worse than shouting. Every morning, he nodded politely at you before heading to work. Every evening, he came home, greeted his daughters, then went straight to his office.

You became a ghost in your own house.

Lian rolled her eyes whenever you tried to talk. Ariana ignored you completely. And little Yasmine, she avoided you like you were poison.

A few days later, someone loosened the step near the staircase. You were carrying laundry down when your foot slipped. You fell hard and your wrist twisted, your leg scraped against the edge. The pain burned sharp through your body.

The housemaid rushed to help. “Madam! Are you alright?”

Elias came out from his study, his face unreadable. His daughters stood nearby, eyes wide but not from guilt.

You tried to stand, wincing. “It’s nothing,” you said. “Just slipped.”

Elias looked at the steps briefly, then back at you. “Be careful next time,” was all he said before walking away.

That night, you cried quietly in your room. You weren’t angry, just tired. So tired of being invisible.

A week later, everything changed.

Yasmine came down with a fever. It started mild, then turned dangerous overnight. Elias was away on a business trip, and the doctor couldn’t come until morning.

You sat beside Yasmine’s bed, placing a cool cloth on her forehead, whispering gently even when she tried to push your hand away.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” you said softly. “I’m here.”

Her little hands trembled. “I want… Mama.”

Your chest tightened. “I know. But Mama would want you to get better, right? So you have to rest. Please.”

You stayed beside her all night until she finally slept. By morning, you were burning with fever too, but you didn’t leave her side.

When Elias came home, he rushed upstairs. The maid told him, “Madam stayed up all night. She wouldn’t even eat.”

He entered quietly. You were slumped beside Yasmine’s bed, pale and sweating, still holding her hand. Yasmine was sleeping peacefully now.

“You… stayed with her?” he asked.

“She needed someone,” you murmured weakly.

He knelt beside you. For once, his voice softened. “You’re burning up.”

You gave a small tired smile. “That’s what mothers do.”