Unconditional

She looked through the iron gate and up the drive leading up to the house. A physical reminder of being forever barred from returning to a happier time. The gate, once a showpiece, now had rust snaking along its edges and was tangled with thick vines. Beyond the gate the drive leading to the house had almost entirely vanished beneath the wild growth and weeds that broke through the cracks of the stone, nature always claiming its own. The trees pressed in with their untrimmed branches swallowing the view of the house beyond. It was hidden now, nearly lost to the wild. The home she once shared with her love.

She could still remember her first time at the house. The way the dogs came barreling toward her that first evening, skidding to a stop as she walked over the threshold. Their tails wagging all the while whimpering as they begged for affection. It had been the perfect welcome—warm, uncomplicated, and full of love.

Her excitement had quickly turned to nervous energy. She was eager to meet Jeff’s daughter and finally become a part of his entire world. She had imagined this moment so often, butterflies forming every time she thought about meeting Jeff’s teenage daughter, Olivia. She knew how close Olivia had been to her mother and how deep that loss still ran. Would she see her as an intruder? A replacement?

Even now, she could see the way Olivia had watched her that first night. Guarded, calculating. Measuring her like a threat, or worse, a trespasser. There had been no warmth in Oliva’s eyes, just scrutiny, as if deciding on exactly how much damage to do. The same chill creeped up her spine as she recalled how Olivia wasn’t just watching, she was waiting.

She and Jeff met at a casual dinner party hosted by a mutual friend. The spark was instant. What started as friendly conversations quickly moved to intimate late night calls and constant togetherness. Their courtship had been brief but filled with a sense that they had found something special. Just a few months later, they knew they didn’t want to wait any longer. It was a simple ceremony, surrounded by close family and friends. Then came the settling in, the blending of lives together. At first it was effortless. Jeff was devoted, eager to please and create something real and stable. Then there was Oliva—sweet, polite Olivia. Always smiling and playing the part of dutiful daughter. As with all new things, there had been awkward moments. Minor tensions, nothing too concerning and easily smoothed over. To an outside observer, simply the normal growing pains of a new family. That is what she thought too. The odd moments began almost imperceptibly. They were fleeting but disorienting. Small things, just enough to keep her unsteady, as if the ground was shifting ever so slightly. She hesitated to say anything to Jeff. There was nothing concrete, nothing she could put her finger on. There was only a lingering sense that Olivia was playing a game with her, keeping her perpetually off balance. Waiting for the right moment to strike.

She tried to engage Olivia, carefully, cautiously, never wanting to seem too eager or too desperate. But Olivia played her role to perfection. Olivia was all warmth and charm in Jeff’s presence. Daddy’s perfect little girl. And Jeff, indulgent as ever, had only grown more protective in the wake of the loss, his devotion sharpened by grief. Olivia studied her stepmother with a quiet, simmering contempt, masking it behind polite smiles and empty conversation. She saw the way her stepmother tried, too hard, too obviously, to wedge herself into their lives. Her stepmother could never be anything more than a placeholder or a clumsy imitation of what had been lost. Her dad couldn’t see it, too blinded by his own need for stability. He was looking for someone to fill the space her mother left behind. Oliva saw it, she saw the truth. She saw the forced warmth in her stepmother’s eyes. How she hesitated, always second-guessing herself, as if even she knew the truth. That she didn’t belong. Olivia swore to make sure her stepmother never forgot it.

Olivia moved through the house like a shadow, her presence light and unnoticed but deliberate in every step. She watched and waited, learning the small, mindless habits that made up her stepmother’s days. The way she always reached for the same mug for her tea, how she left her phone just within reach but never locked. Olivia’s smile never faltered when Jeff was around, her voice always sweet, but behind her eyes was calculation, a quiet malice coiled tight like a spring. It had to look like an accident, something subtle, untraceable. Nothing obvious. Nothing that would point back to her.

At first, the incidents seemed like nothing more than careless mistakes. Things that could happen to anyone. A glass shattered in the sink, though she couldn’t remember setting it too close to the edge. Small objects like her keys or her reading glasses had vanished, reappearing in places she was certain she hadn’t left them. She tried to brush it off. She blamed stress or simple forgetfulness. But an uneasiness started to settle in her chest. Was she really becoming so absentminded? Or was Olivia behind it? The thought made her stomach tighten. She dismissed it. Surely, she was being ridiculous. And yet, the nagging doubt remained.

The grease fire started with a flicker, small, almost harmless before it flared to life. Flames licked up the sides of the pan, curling toward the cabinets above, smoke billowing out in thick plumes. The kitchen reeked of burning oil, stinging her eyes and throat. Fear seized her, making her vision blurry on the edges. She had only stepped away for a moment, just one moment, to answer the door. She swore she had turned off the burner.Or had she? She lunged for the fire extinguisher under the sink, hands shaking as she fumbled with the pin while the flames threatened to overwhelm her and the entire kitchen. For a split second, a thought pierced through the chaos: Had she really been this careless? Or had someone turned the burner back on? The doubt sent a chill through her even as sweat dripped down her spine.

That night, she approached the conversation with Jeff cautiously. Choosing her words carefully, like deciding which stones to step on to not slip into the rushing water, she wondered aloud at all of the recent strange occurrences. All the while watching Jeff’s face for any sign of doubt or belief. Jeff barely looked up from his phone, his brow furrowing only slightly. He brushed it off as too much stress. Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t say it outright. Not yet. But she needed him to see it, to at least consider the possibility. Again, she wondered aloud if perhaps Olivia….At the mere mention of his daughter’s name Jeff’s head snapped up, eyes darkening. He shut down the conversation with one firm final word. “Stop.” She swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile. Jeff wouldn’t hear it. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

Months had passed since the episode in the kitchen and things had been rather unremarkable. Jeff was away for work again. The house always felt different without him. It seemed quieter, heavier. Being alone with Olivia was a tightrope act with every interaction a careful balance between tension and forced normalcy. She always counted the days until Jeff’s return, but tonight, something felt even more off. Olivia had surprised her with a small bouquet of delicate pink oleander blossoms. Olivia had gathered them on her walk home, she said, while placing them in an elegant vase as if the gesture was a mere kindness. She hesitated, eyes flickering over the soft pink petals, but then she smiled, grateful and unsuspecting. Olivia watched her as she filled the vase with water, her fingers brushing against the leaves.

Later that evening Olivia offered to make tea. Her plan was crafted meticulously; the details like threads of a perfect tragedy woven together. Olivia poured the water carefully, the same water that had nourished the poisonous flowers, careful to keep her expression smooth. And as the evening wore on, Olivia observed in silence the slight dizziness, the deepening fatigue, the way her stepmother’s breath seemed to labor just a little more than before. It had begun. Olivia had timed everything perfectly. The tea laced with oleander had done its work, leaving her stepmother sluggish and dulled by the creeping poison. She barely stirred from the couch where Olivia had left her, wrapped in a blanket, body sinking into the couch like a dead weight. Outside, the sky was a deep, endless black, the perfect canvas to be filled with firelight. Olivia stood by the desk near the window, watching the candle flames flicker, small and fragile.She tipped one over. The fire caught instantly, dancing along the invisible trail of hand sanitizer she had so carefully laid out. In a breath, the flames snarled, hungry and wild, devouring everything in their path.

Olivia stepped outside, the heat at her back, and turned once—just for a moment—to watch it all go up in flames. Then, as the sirens wailed in the distance, she screamed. A perfect performance. A grieving daughter. A survivor.

The fire had spread fast, feeding on the house leaving only heat and smoke, but somehow, against all odds, she had survived. She didn’t remember much, only the weight of exhaustion pressing her down and the sluggishness in her limbs as the flames closed in. But something, some instinct, had driven her forward, dragging her through the thick, choking air. Maybe it was the crash of a window shattering in the heat, the rush of oxygen feeding the fire, the sudden clarity of the moment. Maybe it was sheer will. She had stumbled out into the night, lungs burning, shaking, her vision swimming, but alive. Barely. And as she lay in the damp grass, gasping for breath, watching the house collapse into a smoldering ruin, a single thought pushed through the haze—Olivia. Sweet, smiling Olivia. This was never meant to be an accident.

When Jeff returned, he was not met by the warmth of home, but rather its smoldering remains. The ash and charred wood were physical premonitions of things to come. Her accusation shattered their marriage. She had been filled with raw fear when she told him—insisted—that Olivia had set the fire. That his daughter had tried to kill her. Jeff could not accept it. He would not accept it. For her to accuse Olivia of this was unthinkable. The girl he had raised, the daughter he loved, was not a monster. The more she pushed the more he pulled away. Anger and disbelief ripping the fabric of their marriage.

Olivia watched it all unravel. She had been devastated by her stepmother’s survival. The destruction unfolding now though was better than what she had planned. She watched with quiet satisfaction at the true damage that came in the accusations, the disbelief, the way her father’s love for his new wife crumbled under the weight of doubt. Her stepmother’s desperate pleas, her insistence to be believed. Her father’s immoveable refusal to see his daughter as anything but innocent. It was a slow, smoldering collapse to which Oliva had light the match. Now as she watched their marriage turn to ash, like the house, she felt no guilt, no remorse. No one could ever replace what she lost, and this would finally end that fantasy.

In the end, the widening rift between her and Jeff became an unbridgeable chasm. Nights turned cold with silence, thick and suffocating. Once tender words now sharpened into weapons causing wounds. Trust, once a foundation, cracked under the crushing weight of doubt. The quiet, painful truth she had always feared stood before her undeniably. She saw it in Jeff’s eyes. His love for her had never been unconditional, not like the love he had for his daughter. She was not enough. She never had been. She was only ever a shadow, a generic imitation of what he had lost. In the end, it wasn’t just the fire that destroyed their home, it was the accusation that burned their marriage to the ground.