My mom died in a car accident. One moment she existed. The next, she didn’t. That’s how fast a life can unravel.
She was who I called when something good happened. The person I sent stupid memes to at two in the morning. The voice in my head reminding me I was stronger than I felt.
A year later, my dad asked me to dinner.
“Just you, me, and Lena,” he said.
Lena—my aunt. My mother’s twin.
She’d been around constantly since Mom passed. Helping. Cooking. Holding things together. I assumed Dad just didn’t want to sit at the table alone.
When I arrived, the house smelled like lemon cleaner and roasted chicken. Lena answered the door with a smile, wearing my mother’s apron.
Inside, everything was immaculate. Too immaculate. Pillows perfectly straight. Magazines arranged just so. It felt like Mom had just finished cleaning—which was strange, because Dad had never cared about any of that.
Dinner was quiet. Civil. But I kept noticing things.
Lena refilled Dad’s glass before he asked. Handed him the salt before he reached. She moved like she already knew his next thought.
Then Dad set his fork down.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “Lena and I are engaged.”
The words didn’t land.
“Oh,” was all I could say.
Lena squeezed his hand. “This wasn’t sudden. We’ve been leaning on each other for a long time.”
Dad nodded. “She’s been living here for months.”
Months.
I hadn’t known.
“I didn’t want to waste time,” he added. “Life’s short.”
I stayed silent. I was sitting at my mother’s table, watching her twin hold my father’s hand.
In the weeks that followed, everything accelerated. Lena was suddenly everywhere.
“She’s been such a blessing,” people said.
“Your mom would’ve wanted this.”
Would she?
I kept my doubts to myself. I wanted Dad to be happy—even though something felt deeply wrong.
Before the wedding, there was a small family gathering. People talked about fate and unexpected love. I tried not to cry.
Lena wore her hair exactly how my mom used to. I noticed. I couldn’t stop noticing.
My grandmother found me sitting alone.
“You look heartbroken,” she said.
“I don’t understand how this is happening so fast,” I admitted. “It feels like Mom didn’t even get time to be gone.”
Grandma’s expression shifted. She took my hand.
“You need to know the truth,” she whispered. “Come with me.”
At her house, she brought down a box from the attic.
“I never dressed them alike,” she said.
She showed me old photo albums. When they were young, my mom looked vibrant and sure of herself. Lena smiled carefully, always slightly to the side.
As the years passed, the differences faded. Same hairstyle. Same clothes.
“She liked being mistaken for your mother,” Grandma said. “Not just in how she looked.”
Then she showed me notebooks. Lena’s handwriting was tight, angry.
Everyone listens to her.
They never choose me.
My chest tightened.
Grandma opened her tablet. Messages from Lena. All sent after my mom died.
At first, they were practical.
He hasn’t eaten. I stayed.
I’m helping with bills.
Then they changed.
He listens to me better than anyone.
I know how she did things. He responds when I do them the same way.
Adrienne was just a placeholder.
I felt nauseous.
“This wasn’t grief,” I said. “She replaced my mother.”
Grandma nodded, tears spilling. “I should have stopped it.”
“They’re getting married today,” I whispered.
“I have to tell him.”
When we returned, the ceremony was already underway. Lena stood in white, smiling at my father.
“Wait,” I said.
The room went still.
“Dad,” I said, lifting the tablet. “This isn’t love. It’s replacement.”
Lena tried to deny it. My father looked at her—and slowly stepped away.
“Oh God,” he said. “It’s true.”
The officiant’s hands dropped.
“I can’t do this,” my dad said.
Lena murmured, “This was supposed to be my chance.”
For the first time since my mother d:ed, the truth wasn’t being softened or brushed aside.
And this time, I didn’t remain silent.
