My dad married my aunt just eight days after my mom di:ed — and on their wedding day, her son pulled me aside and whispered, “There’s something your father hasn’t told you.”
I’m thirty. My name’s Laura. My mom died in a car accident on a Tuesday. One minute she was driving home, the next a police officer was standing in our living room, and the world as I knew it split in half.
After that, the house filled with casseroles, lilies, and murmured condolences. I barely slept. Food tasted like cardboard. Most days I felt detached from my own body, like I was watching someone else’s tragedy unfold.
Eight days later, my father married my aunt.
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