Saturday. That was five days away. Five days after my mother’s funeral. Eight days total since she’d died.
“I know it seems fast,” Corrine jumped in, her voice syrupy with false understanding. “But when you’ve been through something this traumatic, you learn to grab onto whatever light you can find. Your father needs support right now. He needs someone who understands him.”
“And you’re okay with this?” I heard myself ask, though my voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. “Both of you think this is appropriate?”
Dad’s expression hardened slightly. “I need you to support this decision, Tessa. I know you’re grieving too, but I can’t be alone right now. I won’t survive it.”
“It’s been eight days,” I said quietly. “Mom’s been gone for eight days.”
“Which is exactly why we need to do this now,” Corrine said firmly. “Before the grief becomes unbearable. Before your father sinks into a depression he might not recover from. This is about healing, Tessa. About moving forward together.”
But nothing about this felt like healing.
The Wedding Nobody Asked For
Saturday arrived with cruel efficiency. I woke up hoping the whole conversation had been some kind of grief-induced hallucination, but the sound of workers setting up chairs in the backyard confirmed it was real.
White folding chairs arranged in neat rows. A small arch decorated with flowers that definitely weren’t the kind my mother would have chosen. A table being set up for a cake I hadn’t seen ordered.
I stood at the kitchen window, coffee growing cold in my hands, watching the transformation of our backyard into someone else’s wedding venue.
That’s when I saw her.
Corrine, directing two workers toward my mother’s tulip bed.
Those tulips had been my mother’s pride and joy. She’d planted them five years ago, carefully selecting varieties that would bloom in sequence throughout the spring. She’d marked their progress in a little garden journal, noting which colors came up first and which ones needed more shade.
Every spring, our backyard became a riot of red, yellow, pink, and purple blooms. Neighbors would knock on the door just to ask what varieties she’d planted.
And now Corrine was having them ripped out.
I ran outside, still in my pajamas, as one of the workers drove a shovel into the soil.
“Stop!” I called out. “What are you doing?”
Corrine turned, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption.
“Oh, Tessa. I didn’t know you were up. We’re just clearing this area for the ceremony. These flowers would ruin the aesthetic in the photos.”
“Those are Mom’s tulips,” I said, my voice shaking. “She planted those herself. You can’t just tear them out.”
Corrine’s expression shifted to something that might have been sympathy if it reached her eyes.
“Sweetie, I know this is hard. But your mother loved projects, didn’t she? She was always making things complicated, always fussing over little details.” She gestured vaguely at the garden. “We’re simplifying things. Making this space beautiful in a different way. Your mom would understand that sometimes we need to make changes.”
“She’s been gone for eight days,” I repeated, feeling like a broken record. “And you’re erasing her.”
“We’re not erasing anyone,” Corrine said, her voice taking on a sharp edge beneath the sweetness. “We’re moving forward. Your father needs this, Tessa. Can’t you see that? Can’t you put his needs first for once?”
Before I could respond, Dad appeared on the patio.
“What’s going on?” he asked, looking between us.
“Tessa is upset about the tulips,” Corrine explained, her tone suggesting I was being unreasonable. “I was just trying to help her understand why we need to make some changes.”
Dad looked at me with an expression I didn’t recognize. Tired. Distant. Like he was already somewhere else.
“Not today, Tessa,” he said quietly. “Please. Just… not today.”
And that’s when I realized the truth with brutal clarity.
He’d already chosen. Between his daughter’s grief and his new wife’s wants, he’d made his choice.
It wasn’t me.
The Guest Who Changed Everything
The ceremony was scheduled for two in the afternoon. Guests started arriving around one-thirty, most of them looking confused and uncomfortable. They’d been at my mother’s funeral just over a week ago. Now they were being asked to celebrate her husband’s new marriage.
To her sister.
Some people whispered to each other in the parking area. I saw several guests exchange glances that clearly said they thought this was wildly inappropriate but didn’t know what to do about it. Southern manners dictated they smile and bring gifts and keep their judgments to themselves.
But I could see it in their eyes. They knew this was wrong.
I’d gotten dressed in a simple black dress, the same one I’d worn to the funeral. It felt appropriate somehow. Corrine had suggested I wear something more festive, but I’d ignored her.
An hour before the ceremony, she found me in my old bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at nothing.
“Tessa,” she said brightly, sweeping into the room in her ivory cocktail dress. Not quite white, but close enough to make a statement. “You should come downstairs and mingle with the guests. People are asking about you.”
I didn’t move.
She sat down beside me, and that’s when I saw it clearly. The ring on her left hand.
It was beautiful. A vintage-style setting with a center diamond surrounded by smaller stones, the kind of ring that takes time to design and order. The kind you don’t just pick up at a jewelry store on a whim.
“Do you like it?” she asked, noticing my stare. She held her hand out, letting the light catch the facets of the diamond. “Your father has such wonderful taste. He picked it out himself, you know. Said he wanted something that represented a real beginning.”
Something about those words stuck in my mind. A real beginning.
“When did he give it to you?” I asked, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.
“A few days ago,” she said vaguely. “After we made the decision to move forward together. He said he’d been saving it for the right moment.”
The right moment. Less than two weeks after his wife died.
I must have made some sound, because Corrine’s expression shifted slightly.
“You should be grateful, you know,” she said, her voice losing some of its sweetness. “Your father won’t be alone now. He’ll have someone to take care of him, to help him through his grief. That’s what your mother would have wanted. For him to be happy.”
“My mother’s been dead for eight days,” I said, finally meeting her eyes. “Do you really think this is what she would have wanted?”
“Your mother is gone,” Corrine said bluntly. “And the living have to keep living. Your father needs someone, Tessa. He’s not strong enough to be alone.”
“So you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
Her smile turned cold. “I’m doing this because I love him. Because we deserve happiness after everything we’ve been through.”
We.
As if she’d lost anything close to what I had.
I stood up, needing to get away from her before I said something that couldn’t be taken back. Before I completely lost control.
“I need some air,” I muttered, pushing past her and heading for the back door.
I ended up beside the side gate, behind a row of hedges where I couldn’t be seen from the main gathering. My hands were shaking. My stomach was churning. The sound of champagne glasses clinking and polite laughter drifted over from the patio, and it felt surreal.
Wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
That’s when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Tessa?”
I turned to find Mason standing there. Corrine’s son. He was twenty-seven, quiet and serious, and we’d barely spoken over the years beyond polite holiday greetings.
“Are you okay?” he asked, though his expression suggested he already knew the answer.
“I’m fine,” I lied automatically.
He glanced back toward the house, then stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Can we talk? Somewhere private?”
Something in his tone made me pay attention. He looked nervous. Almost scared.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
He led me further back, behind the old storage shed where no one would see us. Where no one would interrupt whatever he needed to say.
And then he spoke the words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
“Tessa,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “That ring she’s wearing? The one she says your dad just gave her?”
I nodded, my heart starting to pound.
“I saw it before. Last Christmas.”
The world stopped.
“What?” I whispered.
Mason pulled out his phone with trembling hands. “She showed it to me. Told me your dad had picked it out. That it was special. I took a picture because… because it seemed weird at the time, but I didn’t know why.”
He turned the screen toward me.
There was the ring. The exact same ring. In a velvet box, photographed in what looked like Corrine’s bedroom.
The photo was dated December 23rd of the previous year.
Last Christmas.
When my mother was still alive.
When my mother was still baking cookies in the kitchen, still wrapping presents, still making plans for the new year.
When my parents were still married.
When everything was still normal.
“There’s more,” Mason said quietly…
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