Short Stories

12. One Happy Family

~*~*~*~*~15 November 2021~*~*~*~*~

Trigger Warning: Hint of Child abuse.

~*~*~*~*~15 November 2021~*~*~*~*~

"Steven."

Steve looked away from the dog sniffing a pole and turned to see the tall intimidating man that was his dad.

"This is Sienna, your new mum," Dad said, nudging his 4 year old forward.

Steve stumbled towards the tall redhead. She was holding a little girl in her arms. The girl had red hair, too. 

"But Mumma didn't have red hair," Steve murmured.

Nobody heard him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sienna glanced at Steve, and then back at Mr Hopkins. 

You have a son?

 Mr Hopkins looked away. Without speaking a word, he strode back towards the house, where a boy, around nine, was sitting on the porch, his chin on his hands.

Sienna looked down at Steve, who was still staring at her with his large grey eyes. His mouth was open in an 'O' shape. 

She didn't smile. She had no reason to. Terence had never said he had a son.

A talk would be good enough.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Steven?"

Steve looked up from his colouring book he had brought with him. "Yes?"

"You should wash your dishes yourself. Go, now."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve had just introduced himself to his step-brother, Mycroft ("I am Stephen Hopggins. I got a star in my Music class.") when the call came again.

"Steven?"

Steve froze, mid-handshake, and saw that Sienna was there again. With that look.

"It's getting late. Bed. Now."

But Steve felt bold. "Will you read me a story?"

She regarded him, coldly. "No. Go to bed, it's getting late. Mycroft, you too."

Mycroft stood up and, waving a bye at Steve, went to his room upstairs.

The baby started crying. Sienna walked away too, leaving Steve alone.

"But aren't you my new mumma?" Steve whispered in the darkening living room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The room was small and cramped on the top floor, but enough for a 4 year old. A small cupboard, a smaller bed and a tiny rocking chair with an attached lamp was what he got. There was a tall window which looked out at the garden, and it gave him an excellent view of the moon.

Alone in the silent, watching night, he crawled up on his bed and cried. He cried because nobody read him stories. His old mumma wasn't here. The new mumma was distant and the whole place was new and scary.

The door opened and a column of light fell on him. The silhouette of a stocky nine year old stood at the door.

The door closed and Mycroft was in his room. The older boy didn't say a word; he walked to the rocking chair and pulled Steve's book out of his hands. And he read it aloud.