I kept my late wife Nicole’s memory alive through old videotapes—tapes filled with her laughter, her voice, and her dreams for our daughter. For 16 years, I held onto them like they were sacred. I planned to give them to Amber, our daughter, as a gift for her 18th birthday.
But when I went to get them from the closet, they were gone.
I asked my new wife about them… and what she said left me frozen in place, heartbroken, and crying like I hadn’t in years.
Those tapes had been sitting in a worn-out cardboard box on the top shelf of my closet. Sixteen years. Sixteen years I kept them there, untouched, waiting for the right moment. Amber was turning 18 in just two weeks. My hands were practically shaking with anticipation. She didn’t remember her mother—Nicole died when Amber was just two years old. These tapes were all she had left of her.
Nicole and I had been college sweethearts. Young, passionate, unstoppable. We got married right after graduation and were over the moon when we found out she was pregnant. From the first sonogram to the baby’s kicks, we recorded everything on an old camcorder. Nicole talking to our baby bump, laughing about baby names, dancing in the kitchen with swollen ankles. Every moment mattered.
But life doesn’t always go the way you plan.
When Amber was only two years old, Nicole was killed by a drunk driver. She had just left her mom’s house after a visit. One moment, she was alive. The next, she was gone.
I shattered.
The grief was like drowning while trying to hold a baby above the water. I raised Amber alone, barely functioning some days. Dating again? It didn’t even seem like a possibility. Until I met Lauren.
We met five years ago at my sister’s birthday party. Amber was 13, and I was finally feeling like I could breathe again. Lauren had just gone through a messy divorce and had two kids in college. There was a quiet understanding between us. She didn’t try to fix me. She just sat beside me and listened.
Two years later, we got married and formed a new kind of family. I truly believed we were healing together. I thought we were building something solid.
Now I’m not so sure.
One day, I was in the closet, holding one of the tapes. I ran my fingers across the plastic case. The label said “Baby talk – Month 7” in Nicole’s elegant handwriting. I smiled without meaning to.
“What are you doing up there?” Lauren’s voice cut through the quiet, and I flinched. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
“Just getting something ready for Amber’s birthday,” I said, gently putting the tape back. “She turns 18 in two weeks.”
Lauren walked into the room, her smile tight and forced. “That’s nice. What are you planning?”
“You remember those tapes I told you about? The ones Nicole and I made while she was pregnant? I’m finally giving them to Amber. I promised her a long time ago.”
That smile disappeared from Lauren’s face. Her whole expression changed into something hard to read. Maybe frustration… maybe jealousy?
“Is that really necessary, Nathan? It’s been sixteen years. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
Her words hit me like a slap. I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept hearing them in my head.
“Time to move on…”
Those tapes weren’t just old videos. They were Amber’s story. Her beginning. Her connection to the mother she never got to know. How could Lauren not understand that?
The next morning, I found Lauren in the kitchen, sipping tea like nothing had happened. She didn’t look at me when she said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I just… sometimes I feel like I’m living in someone else’s shadow.”
I sat down beside her. “Nicole’s been gone for sixteen years, Lauren. You’re not living in anyone’s shadow.”
She looked at me then, eyes shining with tears. “But she was perfect, wasn’t she? A fashion designer, beautiful, smart. The woman you built a life with. The one Amber would remember if she could. And me? I’m just… me.”
“She wasn’t perfect,” I said gently. “She was amazing, but she wasn’t perfect. No one is. And she was Amber’s mother. These tapes—they’re all Amber has left of her.”
Tears spilled down Lauren’s face. “And what about me? What am I to Amber?”
“You’re her stepmom. And you’ve been here for five years. That means a lot.”
“But it’s not the same, is it?” she whispered. “I’ll never be Nicole.”
I reached across the table and took her hand. “I don’t want you to be Nicole. I love you, Lauren.”
“Do you really?” she asked, eyes searching mine.
“I do.”
I hugged her and kissed her head, but my chest was heavy. This had always been a sore spot—Lauren’s unease whenever Nicole came up. I thought time would heal that. I thought wrong.
The next morning, everything felt strangely normal. Lauren made pancakes. She hugged Amber tight before she left for her weekend school trip. She even kissed me at the door.
“About last night,” she said, squeezing my arm, “I was being ridiculous. I’m sorry.”
I let out a breath. “It’s okay. We all get in our heads sometimes.”
She smiled. “When you get back tonight… maybe I could see one of the tapes? I’d like to understand.”
I hesitated. Then nodded. We were a family now, and families should be open.
That night, we sat together and played one of the tapes. Nicole filled the screen, glowing, laughing as she rubbed her pregnant belly.
“Hello, little one,” Nicole cooed. “I can’t wait to meet you. I hope you get your dad’s eyes… and my fashion sense.”
I watched Lauren’s face. I expected sadness or anger. But she was unreadable.
“She was beautiful,” Lauren said flatly.
“Yes. She was.”
“I’m going to bed,” she said suddenly, standing up. “Don’t stay up too late.”
She walked out without another word, leaving me alone with the flickering screen.
The next morning, I decided to place the tapes in a nicer box. The cardboard one was old, and I wanted it to feel special for Amber’s birthday.
But when I opened the closet—nothing. The tapes were gone.
I searched everywhere. Under the bed, in the drawers, the garage, the attic. Every possible hiding spot. Still nothing.
My heart thudded in panic as I found Lauren sitting in the living room flipping through a magazine.
“Lauren… have you seen the videotapes?” I asked.
She didn’t even blink. “I threw them away.”
I blinked, sure I’d misheard. “You what?”
“I threw them away,” she repeated, still flipping the pages. “It’s time to move on, Nathan. Those tapes were holding you back. Holding all of us back.”
“They weren’t yours to throw away!” I yelled. “They were Amber’s! That was her mother!”
Lauren finally looked up, her face hard. “I’m her mother now. Or I’m trying to be. But how can I, when Nicole’s ghost is always in this house, always in your eyes?”
My chest felt like it was caving in. “Where did you throw them? Maybe I can still—”
“The garbage truck came this morning,” she said coldly. “They’re gone.”
I ran outside, tore open the bins, flipped the lids off every trash can on the street. Empty. Too late.
I don’t remember much after that. I remember shouting. I remember Lauren crying—sobbing loudly, her face red and blotchy. I remember grabbing my keys and leaving the house, driving without a destination for hours.
When I came home, the house was quiet. There was a note on the counter.
“I’m going to stay at my sister’s for a few days. To give you space. —Lauren”
I sat on the couch and buried my face in my hands. How was I supposed to tell Amber? How could I explain that the only thing she had left of her mom was gone?
The front door opened. Amber was home from her trip, tired but smiling.
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
I looked at her. She looked so much like Nicole it physically hurt.
“I had something planned for your birthday,” I said. “Something really special.”
Amber dropped her backpack. “What was it?”
“Your mom and I made videotapes when she was pregnant with you. We recorded everything—messages, laughter… dreams. I was going to give them to you next week.”
Her eyes lit up. “You have tapes of Mom?”
“Had,” I corrected. “Lauren threw them away.”
Her face twisted in shock. “What?! Why would she do that?”
“She thought it was time to move on.”
Amber’s voice trembled. “I haven’t even had anything to move on from. How can I let go of a mom I never knew?”
“I’m so sorry, Amber,” I whispered. “I failed you.”
“No,” she said fiercely. “You didn’t fail me. Lauren did.”
That night, Amber knocked on my door.
“Dad? Where does our trash go?”
I blinked. “The city dump. Why?”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
We drove to the dump at night, bribed the gatekeeper with $50, and stepped into a world of rot and metal and foggy lights. We searched for hours, hands dirty, eyes stinging, stomachs turning.
Then I heard it.
“Dad!” Amber gasped. “I found one!”
She held it up like treasure. The label read: “Baby’s First Kick.”
We found three more. It wasn’t everything, but it was something.
As we walked back to the car, Amber hugged the tapes close.
“Thank you for not giving up, Dad.”
“I’d never give up on you,” I said. “Or your mother’s memory.”
We watched the tapes over the next few days. They were damaged but playable. Nicole’s face, her voice… it was like she was in the room again.
“She has my laugh,” Amber whispered once.
“Yes,” I said. “She does.”
Lauren came back. She apologized, cried again. But it wasn’t the same.
“Amber, I wasn’t thinking. I felt like I’d never measure up. I was jealous… stupid… I’m sorry.”
“You’re right,” Amber said. “You can’t measure up. Because Mom would never have done something so cruel.”
Lauren looked at me, her eyes desperate. “Nathan, say something. Please.”
I looked at her. I didn’t even recognize her anymore. “I think you should go back to your sister’s. We need space.”
Amber’s birthday came. We had a small party—just the two of us, my parents, and Amber’s best friend. After the cake, I handed her a small box.
Inside were the recovered tapes… and a flash drive.
“I had them digitized,” I said. “So you’ll always have them.”
She cried and hugged me. “Thank you. This means the world.”
That night, before bed, she looked back at me.
“What’s going to happen with Lauren?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. What she did… it’s hard to forgive.”
Amber nodded. “Mom would want you to be happy. But not with someone who tries to erase her.”
“When did you get so wise?” I asked.
“I get it from my mom.”
Six months later, the divorce was finalized. Lauren moved away. Amber started film school, inspired by her mother’s story.
One night she sent me a link. “Dad, I made a short film. It’s called Echoes. It’s about how we carry the people we love with us.”
I watched it. Nicole’s old clips blended with Amber’s new ones—mother and daughter side by side in time.
The tapes were just plastic.
The love they carried?
That was forever.
