My mom had barely been gone a month when my stepdad told me he was getting married to Mom’s best friend. That alone should’ve broken me. But what shattered me came later when I discovered what they were hiding all along. What I did next, they never saw coming.
The house still felt like Mom.
Her reading glasses sat on the coffee table next to a bookmark she’d never move again. The blanket she’d crocheted was folded over the back of her chair, waiting for someone who wouldn’t return.
The air still held traces of her rosemary oil. Her slippers were by the bed. The mug she’d used every morning sat in the dish drainer, and I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.
Cancer had stolen her in pieces over eight months. First her energy, then her hair, then her ability to pretend everything was fine when we both knew it wasn’t.
Some days she’d smile and tell me stories from before I was born. On other days, she’d just stare out the window, her mind somewhere I couldn’t follow.
Near the end, she’d apologized constantly. For being tired, needing help, and for existing in a body that was betraying her.
I’d hold her hand and tell her to stop, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
Paul, my stepfather, had been there through all of it. So had Linda, Mom’s best friend since college. They’d coordinate schedules, trade sitting with her, and bring groceries when I was too exhausted to shop.
“We’re a team,” Linda used to say, squeezing my shoulder. “Your mom’s not fighting this alone.”
Except in the end, Mom was alone in ways I didn’t understand yet.
Four weeks after we buried her, Paul knocked on my apartment door with the kind of expression that meant bad news was coming.
We didn’t sit. We stood in my small kitchen while the coffeemaker gurgled behind us.
Paul kept running his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I’d known since I was 12.
“There’s something I need to mention,” he started. “Before you hear it somewhere else.”
My heart raced. “What’s wrong?”
He exhaled hard. “Linda and I have decided to get married.”
The words landed wrong, like he’d said them in another language.
“Married?”
“Yes.”
“To each other?”
I felt my face go hot. “Mom died 28 days ago.”
“I know this seems sudden…”
“Sudden? It seems INSANE. Linda was Mom’s best friend. You’re Mom’s husband…”
“Was her husband,” he corrected, and something in my chest turned to ice.
The story doesn’t end here – it continues on the next page.
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