My dad married my mom’s sister three months after her funeral. Grief makes people do crazy things, I told myself.
My brother then pulled me aside after arriving late to the wedding and gave me a letter that Mom had never intended me to see.
Observing my mother’s death was the worst thing I could have imagined. I was mistaken.
For nearly three years, she battled breast cancer. She asked me if I ate, if my brother Robert paid his bills on time, and if Dad remembered to take his blood pressure medication, even though she was barely able to sit up at the end.
She was a parent, even if she died.
I was mistaken.
When we buried Grandma, the house still smelled of her lavender lotion and antiseptic.
The same things were said over and over again.
“She is no longer in pain.”
“She had such strength.”
“You’ll be alright. Time is helpful.
Nothing was done by time. It simply increased the volume of the stillness.
My dad invited Robert and me to visit three months after the death.
Nothing was done by time.
On the phone, he urged, “Just talk.” He sounded overly cautious.
Everything was the same when we entered the living room. Mom’s coat was still by the entrance. Beneath the couch were her slippers. Even though the funeral flowers were no longer there, the void they created felt enduring.
My dad was seated next to my aunt Laura. Mom’s younger sibling. She appeared anxious. The hands were folded. pressing the knees together. Her eyes were red, as if she had been sobbing, but not lately.
The funeral flowers have vanished.
I recall asking myself, “Why is she here?”
At last, Dad replied, “I want to be honest with you both.” “I’m not interested in secrets.”
My first warning ought to have been that.
Laura grabbed his hand. He gave her permission.
Dad said, “I’ve found someone.” And I didn’t anticipate it. I didn’t search for it.
Robert scowled. “What are you discussing?”
“I want to tell you both the truth.”
Dad took a swallow. “I’m with Laura… we’re together.”
The room swayed. I waited for the joke as I looked at him. No one showed up.
“You’re… together?”
Laura blurted out, “We didn’t plan this.” “Please have faith in that. People are just affected by grief.
Dad gave a nod. We supported one another. We shared the same suffering. One thing paved the way for another.
My brother got to his feet. Three months after Mom passed away, you’re saying this. Three months.
“Please have faith in that. People are just affected by grief.
Dad answered, “I understand how it sounds.” However, life is brief. I learned that by losing your mother.
It was a scorching sentence. I wanted to yell that she was the one who died. Not him.
Rather, I sat still.
Laura tightened her grip on Dad’s hand. We are in love with one another. Additionally, we are getting married.
The words didn’t land correctly. Too quickly. Too much practice. I recall nodding. I can’t recall making the decision. My brother remained silent. He simply left the room.
We are in love with one another. Additionally, we are getting married.
He gave me a call later that evening.
“This is incorrect. This doesn’t feel right at all.
“It’s grief,” was my initial response. “Strange things happen to people.”
I had no idea who I was attempting to persuade.
Everything happened in a flash over the next few weeks. Silently. No major announcements. No celebration of engagement. Only appointments, paperwork, and hushed chats when they believed we weren’t paying attention.
I had no idea who I was attempting to persuade.
Laura made an effort to involve me.
“Want to assist with flower selection?”
“I thought you might be interested in seeing the location.”
Every time, I said no.
“I’m all right,” I said. “Do as you please.”
Dad once drew me away. “You don’t mind this, do you?”
Laura made an effort to involve me.
I paused. then gave a nod. “What matters is whether you’re happy.”
His shoulders loosened. As if he had just received forgiveness for something I still didn’t entirely comprehend.
Six weeks later, the invitation to the wedding arrived. A little ceremony. just close relatives. I gazed at it for a while. There was no mention of Mom’s name. Not a word. There was no recognition of how little time had gone by.
I went anyhow.
There was no mention of Mom’s name. Not a word.
I reminded myself that I was doing responsibly. The affectionate thing. The daughter thing. I repeated that lie to myself as I stood there on the wedding day, surrounded by champagne, smiles, and gentle music.
This is simply sadness. Here are only two broken individuals seeking solace. Then, with his jacket half-on and wild eyes, Robert arrived late. He took hold of my arm.
Claire. We must speak. At this moment.
And he delivered the statement that made everything clear before I could ask why.
“You’re unaware of Dad’s true identity.”
I told myself that lie again.
Robert continued to walk until we were almost outdoors. Behind us, the music stopped. Through the open doors, laughter erupted. Someone cheered and clinked a glass. It seemed indecent.
“What’s happening?” I gave a hiss. “You were not present at the ceremony. You appear to have run here.
“I nearly didn’t show up,” he said. When he eventually released my arm, his hand was trembling. “I was instructed not to.”
“Told by whom?”
Robert lowered his voice after taking another look at the reception area. “Mom.”
“You were not present at the ceremony. You appear to have run here.
I gazed at him.
“That isn’t amusing.”
“I’m serious. I promise you.
“You’re saying that after Mom passed away, she told you something?”
“No,” he said hastily. “Prior to.”
Half-hidden by tall bushes, we were standing close to a row of coat racks. People smiled as they went by, not realizing that my whole body felt like it was going to give out.
“I’m serious. I promise you.
I received a call this morning from a lawyer. I nearly didn’t respond. I mistook it for spam.
“And?”
He was also aware of Mom’s name. was aware of her disease. knew the precise day she passed away.
My mouth became parched.
My brother went on, “He said that when Dad remarried, Mom asked him to get in touch with me.” “In particular, when Dad wed Laura.”
I experienced a chill running down my back.
“He said that when Dad remarried, Mom asked him to get in touch with me.”
“That isn’t rational. Why would she—
Robert interrupted, “She found out.”
“Discovered what?”
He took some time to respond. He reached into his jacket and took out an envelope. thick. The color is cream. sealed.
She knew she was going to die when she wrote this. She requested that he hold off until the appropriate time.
I fixed my gaze on the envelope.
He reached into his jacket and took out an envelope. Cream-colored and thick. sealed.
“What’s in it?”
“The real story about Dad.”
I laughed shakily. “Dad remained.” He looked after her. Every day he was there.
My brother said, “That’s what she thought too.”
I muttered, “Read it.”
“I am unable to. Not in this place. Not quite yet.
“Why not?”
“Go through it.”
“Because you can’t unknow it once you know it.”
Inside, there was a fit of laughter. My name was called.
“Claire! The cake will soon be cut!
I stayed put.
“What did Mom discover?” I inquired once more.
In an attempt to rouse himself, Robert stroked his face.
“What did Mom discover?”
She came to the realization that Dad had been deceiving her for years. Not about little matters. roughly his whole life.
“That’s intentionally vague,” I yelled. “Stop acting that way.”
Then he gave me a glance. “Recall how Laura abruptly became closer to us after Mom fell ill?”
“Yes. She expressed her desire to assist.
And Dad’s constant insistence that she stay? How could she have been there all the time when Mom wasn’t feeling well?
“Stop acting that way.”
Despite the lack of conviction in my voice, I continued, “Grief makes people cling.”
“Or hide.”
I gave a headshake. “No. If you’re hinting at what I believe you to be—
I’m going to tell you what Mom wrote. For the most of their marriage, Dad had been seeing someone else. She eventually discovered everything at that point—the individual wasn’t a stranger.
I was lightheaded. “Her sister.”
“Dad had spent the majority of their marriage with someone else.”
Robert cut in, “There’s more.” “A child is present. Everyone believed it belonged to someone else.
“What are you saying?”
Robert turned to face the wedding hall once more. at the visitors who were grinning. at our dad.
“I’m saying that this wedding didn’t begin after Mom passed away,” he muttered.
I was about to reply when he held out a hand. “Not in this place. We require privacy. Time, too. Because when I’ve finished explaining the contents of that letter to you…
“That Mom’s death didn’t trigger this wedding.”
Robert then put the envelope in my hand.
“You’ll see that Mom knew she was being deceived as she was dying.”
Behind us, the music grew louder.
Sparklers were ignited by someone.
And the weight of the paper that was going to ruin everything made my hands start to shake.
Robert put the envelope in my palm.
I can’t recall making the decision. We simply didn’t. A few feet away, life continued, but mine broke open. We entered a tiny side room. chairs that are empty. A rack for coats. A window opened to let fresh air in. Robert shut the door.
He said, “Sit.”
I took a seat. I could hardly move my legs. Robert held the envelope in front of me like it was ready to bite.
“First, make a promise to me,” he urged.
“What?”
Make a commitment not to interrupt. Not till I’m done.
“First, promise me something.”
I gave a nod. The seal was broken by my brother. Carefully, the paper within was folded. neat penmanship. Known.
Robert remarked softly, “It begins like a farewell.” “She knew she wouldn’t be there to defend herself when she wrote it.”
After inhaling, he started reading.
“My darling kids. If you’re reading this, it indicates that my fears were valid. It also implies that I did not live long enough to defend you on my own.
I put my hand to my lips.
“It begins as a farewell.”
“I wanted my final months to be free of conflict, therefore I didn’t tell you while I was still living. I was already exhausted. I was hurting already. Instead of discovering betrayals, I wanted my last days to be filled with love.
My chest constricted.
“I discovered it by chance. messages I shouldn’t have seen. dates that were inconvenient. Money that moved cautiously and silently, as though someone thought I wouldn’t notice.
I happened to find out. messages I shouldn’t have seen. dates that were inconvenient.
My hands started to tremble.
“I initially persuaded myself that I was mistaken. My mind was tricked by that terror.
A pause. The paper made a rustling sound.
However, just because you are too weak to face the truth doesn’t mean that it goes away. It wasn’t an unknown person. My own sister was involved.
I was lightheaded.
But being too weak to confront the reality doesn’t make it go away.
“I offered him one opportunity to be truthful. Calmly, I asked. I wanted to think there was a plausible reason.
My eyes were burning with tears.
He said that I was having hallucinations. I was skeptical because of my sickness. that I ought to take a nap.
As he continued to read, my brother’s voice broke a little.
“I gave him my faith. Because you learn to doubt yourself before you doubt someone you’ve loved for decades.
Silence descended.
I was dreaming, he told me.
However, I continued to observe. Silently. That’s when I realized something even worse. The child that everyone thinks is someone else’s is actually his.
“No,” I muttered.
Robert gave a nod. “He belongs to Dad.”
I repeatedly shook my head. “That isn’t possible. It would have been noticed by someone.
She did. Eventually.
Robert read on.
That’s when I realized something even worse.
“Everything made sense once I realized that. What kept him there? Why did he never go? Why he lived a second life next to me while pretending to be a loving husband.
The words were sharp.
He wasn’t kept here by love. It was security. what I had. What he would forfeit if he left.
My fingernails dug into my hands.
Robert eventually remarked, “She thought they were waiting.” “Awaiting her demise.” waiting to spend time together in public. awaiting the inheritance of what she created.
He wasn’t here because of love.
I got up so quickly that the chair made a loud scraping sound.
“No! That isn’t—
She kept them hidden. She made plans. Her will was revised. Silently. lawfully. Everything belongs to us.
I gazed at him. “Dad receives nothing. Laura receives nothing.
I burst out laughing. Unsteady and sharp.
“So this wedding, this entire event—”
“Dad receives nothing. Laura receives nothing.
Robert remarked, “They think they’ve won.”
Abruptly, the door opened.
My father called out, “Claire?” “Are you all right in here?”
Robert slid the letter back into the envelope after folding it.
“Yes,” I returned the call. “We’ll leave right away.”
“Are you all right in here?”
Once more, the door shut.
I took a deep breath. “What should we do?”.. Outside, the music grew louder.
The cake was going to be sliced.
My father was unaware that his festivities would soon turn into a confrontation.
“What are we going to do?”
Together, we made our way back into the reception. Dad saw us right away. He grinned in relief.
“There you are. I was beginning to worry.
I said, “We need to talk.”
His smile faded a little. “Can it wait?”
“No.”
People nearby went quiet. Laura stiffened.
“We need to talk.”
My brother stepped forward. “Mom knew. About everything.”
“Knew what?”
I raised the envelope. She was aware of both you and her sister. She was aware of the child. She was aware of your reasons for staying.
His name was whispered by Laura.
“Cease.”
Dad chuckled once. “You don’t understand.”
“No,” I replied. “You are.”
Mom was aware. about everything.
My brother went on. She revised the will. We get everything. You receive nothing.
Dad’s face lost its color. “That isn’t feasible.”
“It is,” I answered. “It’s finished already.”
Laura moved away from him. “You mentioned that it was resolved.”
I gave them both a look. “You did not have a future because of this wedding. The truth was revealed.
We didn’t say goodbye before we went.
Laura also left him a few months later. It turns out that when there is nothing left to inherit, love quickly fades.
Mom was correct. When she was dying, she didn’t fight. Silently, she prevailed.
