A year after my mother died, my father told me he was getting married again.
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That alone was hard enough. But when he said the woman was my mother’s identical twin, I felt something inside me go still. Everyone around us called it healing. A second chance. Fate being kind after loss.
It didn’t feel kind to me.
And it turned out, it wasn’t.
My mom died suddenly in a car accident. One moment she was alive, texting me reminders and terrible jokes, and the next she was gone. There was no gradual goodbye. No easing into grief. Just shock and silence.
She had been my anchor. The person I called first with news. The voice that reminded me I was capable when I doubted myself. Losing her felt like losing gravity.
Lena, her twin sister, appeared almost immediately after. At first, I was grateful. She brought food, helped Dad with paperwork, stayed late so he wouldn’t be alone. I told myself this was what family did.
About a year later, Dad called me and asked me to come over for dinner.
“Just you, me, and Lena,” he said.
I didn’t think much of it.
When I arrived, the house smelled freshly cleaned, like lemon polish and roasted chicken. Lena opened the door before Dad could.
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