I kept my late wife Nicole’s memory alive through a collection of old videotapes. Her voice, her laugh, her love—they were all captured on those tapes. I saved them for nearly 18 years, waiting for the right moment to give them to our daughter, Amber. I wanted it to be a special gift on her 18th birthday.
But when I went to get the tapes from the top shelf of my closet, they were gone.
I asked my current wife, Lauren, about them—and her answer didn’t just shock me. It crushed me. I felt like my chest had caved in. I was frozen, heartbroken… and crying like I hadn’t cried in years.
Let me take you back.
The tapes were kept in an old cardboard box, tucked away behind my sweaters and winter clothes. I had hidden them there 16 years ago, shortly after Nicole died. I never watched them. It hurt too much. But I couldn’t throw them away either. They were all I had left of her.
Amber was just a baby when Nicole passed. She doesn’t remember her mom. Those tapes were going to be her window into the past—her chance to meet the woman who brought her into this world.
Nicole and I had been college sweethearts. We were young, crazy in love, and full of dreams. We got married right after graduation. A year later, Nicole got pregnant. We were thrilled—scared, but thrilled.
We bought a camcorder and filmed everything. Nicole’s belly growing bigger, our silly arguments over baby names, our quiet talks to the little baby growing inside her. Nicole used to record messages for Amber before she was even born.
“I hope you get your dad’s laugh,” she’d say with a smile. “But please, not his taste in music.”
We were happy. So happy.
Then one day, everything ended.
Nicole was driving home from visiting her mom when a drunk driver ran a red light and hit her car. She died on the spot. Amber was two years old.
I remember falling to my knees when the police told me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t eat. For months, I walked around like a ghost, trying to raise a toddler while grieving the love of my life.
I didn’t think I’d ever love again.
Then, five years ago, I met Lauren. It was at my sister’s birthday party. She was newly divorced, with two grown kids in college. She was kind, funny, and she understood pain. We bonded over loss and the idea of starting over.
At the time, Amber was 13. I had finally begun to feel like I was living again.
Lauren and I dated for about two years before getting married. We became a blended family, and for a while, things felt good. I thought we were all healing. I thought this was my second chance at happiness.
Maybe I was wrong.
Two weeks before Amber’s 18th birthday, I went up to the closet and opened the box. I held one of the tapes in my hands and smiled when I saw Nicole’s handwriting: “Baby Talk – Month 7.” My chest ached, but in a good way. I could already picture Amber watching this and hearing her mom’s voice for the first time.
Then Lauren walked in.
“What are you doing up there?” she asked, arms crossed as she leaned in the doorway.
“Getting ready for Amber’s birthday,” I said, gently placing the tape back in the box. “The big 18.”
She smiled, but it was the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. “That’s nice. What are you planning?”
I looked at her. “Remember those tapes I told you about? The ones Nicole and I made when she was pregnant? I promised Amber I’d give them to her when she turned 18.”
Suddenly, Lauren’s whole expression changed. Her smile faded. She looked… annoyed? No, worse. Cold.
“Is that really necessary, Nathan?” she said quietly. “It’s been sixteen years. Don’t you think it’s time to move on?”
That night I barely slept. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about what she said. Move on? How could she not understand? These tapes were a gift. A piece of Amber’s history. Her mother’s love—captured forever.
The next morning, I found Lauren in the kitchen sipping tea. She didn’t look up.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she said.
I sat down across from her. “You just caught me off guard, Lauren.”
She finally looked at me. “I just… sometimes I feel like I’m living in a shadow.”
“Nicole’s been gone for 16 years,” I said gently. “You’re not in a shadow.”
“But she was perfect, wasn’t she?” Lauren’s eyes glistened with tears. “She was beautiful. She was a fashion designer. A perfect mom. And me? I’m none of that.”
“She wasn’t perfect,” I said, reaching for her hand. “She was just… loved. She was Amber’s mother. And these tapes? They’re all Amber has of her.”
Lauren’s face crumpled. “What about me? What am I to her?”
“You’re her stepmom. And that means something. You’ve been there for her, and I appreciate that. But Nicole is a part of her too.”
Lauren pulled her hand away. “But I’ll never be Nicole, right?”
“No,” I said softly. “And I don’t want you to be. I love you for who you are.”
She didn’t say anything. Just got up and left the room.
The next day, she was acting completely different. She made breakfast. Hugged Amber before she left for her school trip. Kissed me goodbye at the door.
“About last night,” she said, clinging to my arm. “I was being silly. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said, relieved. “We all have moments.”
“Can I see the tapes when you get home tonight?” she asked.
I hesitated. Then nodded. “Sure.”
That evening, I brought out the tapes and set up the old VCR. I played one.
Nicole appeared on the screen, glowing, eight months pregnant.
“Hello, little one,” she said, smiling down at her belly. “This is your mom. I can’t wait to meet you.”
I glanced at Lauren. She was quiet.
“She was beautiful,” she said flatly.
“Yes,” I replied. “She was.”
“I’m going to bed,” she said suddenly. “Don’t stay up too late.”
And just like that, she was gone.
The next morning, I went to transfer the tapes to a nicer box. The cardboard one was falling apart. I wanted everything perfect for Amber.
But when I opened the closet, the box was missing.
My heart started racing. I tore through the closet. I checked under the bed. The attic. The garage. Nothing.
Finally, I found Lauren sitting on the couch flipping through a magazine.
“Have you seen the tapes?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She didn’t even look up. “I threw them away.”
I blinked. “You… what?”
“I threw them away,” she said again. “It’s time to move on, Nathan. Those tapes were holding you—and all of us—back.”
“They weren’t yours to throw away!” I yelled. “They were Amber’s! They were her mother’s!”
Lauren finally looked up. Her face was hard. “I’m her mother now. At least I’m trying to be. But I can’t compete with a ghost.”
I ran outside, hoping, praying. But it was too late. The trash cans were empty. So was the street.
I collapsed onto the front steps, shaking. I barely remember what happened after that. I know I screamed. I know Lauren cried. Big, loud sobs. But I didn’t stay. I got in my car and drove. I just drove.
When I came back hours later, the house was silent. There was a note on the counter.
“I’m staying at my sister’s for a few days. You need space. So do I.”
I sat on the couch, my face in my hands. How could I tell Amber? How could I explain that the one piece of her mom was gone forever?
Then the front door opened.
Amber stepped in, backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked tired from her school trip, but smiled when she saw me.
“Dad? What’s wrong?”
Her voice. It sounded just like Nicole’s.
“There’s something I was going to give you for your birthday,” I said slowly. “Something special.”
Amber frowned. “Yeah?”
“Your mom and I made videotapes when she was pregnant with you. We filmed everything—her talking to you, singing, laughing. I saved them for 18 years. But…”
Her eyes widened. “You had tapes of Mom?”
I nodded. “Lauren threw them away.”
Amber stared at me. “WHAT?! Why would she do that?!”
“She said it was time to move on.”
Amber’s voice cracked. “But I never even got to have anything. How can I move on from someone I never knew?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I failed you.”
“No, Dad. You didn’t fail me. She did.”
That night, Amber knocked on my bedroom door.
Her eyes were puffy, but her voice was strong.
“Dad? Where does our trash go?”
I blinked. “The city dump.”
She nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going.”
We drove across town, bribed the dump gatekeeper with $50, and started digging through mountains of garbage under flickering lights. It smelled awful. It felt hopeless.
Then Amber screamed, “DAD! I found one!”
She held up a tape, dirty but readable: Baby’s First Kick.
We searched for hours. In the end, we found four tapes. It wasn’t everything, but it was something.
Back home, Amber clutched the tapes like treasure. “Thank you, Dad. For not giving up.”
“I never will,” I said, tears in my eyes. “Not on you. Not on her.”
We watched them all over the next few days. Amber cried. She laughed. She saw herself in Nicole’s face.
“She had my laugh,” Amber whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “She did.”
When Lauren came back, she tried to apologize.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she said. “I was jealous. Insecure. I just wanted to be enough.”
Amber’s voice was cold. “You’ll never be enough. Because my mom would’ve never done something like that.”
Lauren looked at me, desperate. “Nathan, please. Help her understand.”
I shook my head. “I think you should go back to your sister’s for a while.”
Amber’s birthday came. We had a small party—just my parents and her best friend.
After cake, I handed her a box.
Inside were the recovered tapes and a flash drive.
“I had them digitized,” I said. “So they’ll last forever.”
Amber burst into tears. “This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”
Later that night, she asked 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 she’d want you to be with someone who respects her. Not someone who tries to erase her.”
“When did you get so wise?” I asked.
“I get it from my mom,” she smiled, and went to bed.
A week later, I met Lauren for coffee.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said. “About us.”
Lauren started crying. “I’ll get therapy. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t leave.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But this isn’t just about what you did. It’s about who you became.”
Six months later, we divorced.
Amber started college, studying film—because of those tapes.
One night, she sent me a video project.
It was called Echoes. A film about Nicole, and about her.
As Nicole’s face faded into Amber’s, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time:
Peace.
The tapes were just tapes.
But the love they captured?
That was forever.
