My mom died in a car accident. One moment, she was here. The next, she wasn’t. That’s how fast your entire world can collapse, apparently.
She was the person I called first with good news, and the one I texted stupid memes to at two in the morning.
She was the voice in my head that told me I could handle things when I was pretty sure I couldn’t.
That’s how fast your entire world can collapse.
A year later, my dad called and asked me to come over for dinner.
“Just you, me, and Lena,” he said on the phone.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. Lena was my aunt, Mom’s twin sister. She’d been around a lot after Mom died, helping Dad out, bringing casseroles, that sort of thing.
I figured Dad just didn’t want to cook alone.
Lena was my aunt, Mom’s twin sister.
When I arrived, the house smelled like lemon cleaner and roasted chicken.
Lena opened the door before my dad could.
“You’re early,” she said brightly.
She was wearing my mother’s apron, but I didn’t let myself think about that too hard.
She stepped aside, gesturing me in with a smile. “Your dad’s finishing up in the kitchen.”
She was wearing my mother’s apron.
Inside, everything looked perfect.
And I mean perfect. The throw pillows were arranged just so, and the magazines on the coffee table were fanned out at precise angles.
It felt like Mom had just finished cleaning and tidying.
Which was strange, because Dad had never been big on cleaning. He used to tease Mom that she cleaned like we were preparing for a magazine shoot.
It felt like Mom had just finished cleaning and tidying.
We ate first.
The chicken was good. The conversation was small, polite, and neutral.
But I kept noticing things.
Lena kept Dad’s plate full and refilled his water before he noticed it was empty. When he reached for the salt, she slid it toward him without looking. Like she knew what he needed before he did.
It was weird, but it was about to get weirder.
I kept noticing things.
Dad cleared his throat and set down his fork.
“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Lena and I are engaged. We’re getting married soon. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
I heard the words… I understood them individually, but together?
They didn’t make sense.
“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh,” I said. It was the only sound that came out.
Lena reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Her fingers curled around his palm like they’d done it a thousand times before.
“I know it’s a lot,” she said gently. “But this wasn’t sudden. We’ve been leaning on each other for a long time.”
Dad nodded, his eyes still on me.
“We’ve been leaning on each other for a long time.”
“After your mom… Lena was here every day. She kept things running when I couldn’t.” Dad gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “I was a mess. She made sure I ate, slept, and had clean laundry. She’s been living here for months.”
Months?
Why hadn’t I known about that?
“She’s been living here for months.”
I stared at my plate, trying to figure out when that had happened and how I’d missed it.
“And over time,” he continued, “we realized we cared about each other. Life’s short. I didn’t want to waste it.”
Lena squeezed his hand.
“We love each other.”
I didn’t answer. What was I supposed to say? Congratulations? I’m happy for you?
Because I wasn’t.
What was I supposed to say?
I was confused and blindsided, and sitting at my mother’s table watching her twin sister hold my father’s hand.
Dad watched my face closely. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m just… surprised.”
Lena smiled at me. “That’s normal.”
I nodded, because that was easier than admitting that the room felt too small and too hot, and I wanted to leave.
I was confused and blindsided.
Over the next few weeks, everything moved fast.
Lena was suddenly everywhere.
“She’s been such a blessing,” my aunt whispered to me at one gathering, leaning close like she was sharing a secret.
“She stepped right in,” someone else said, nodding approvingly. “Your mom would’ve wanted that.”
Lena was suddenly everywhere.
Would she? I wanted to ask. Would she really have wanted this? But I didn’t.
Because even though it felt wrong watching Dad prepare to marry my mother’s twin, I was 23, old enough to know that sometimes real life is stranger than fiction.
And I wanted Dad to be happy.
So, I kept my misgivings to myself.
It felt wrong watching Dad prepare to marry my mother’s twin.
Dad and Lena had planned a small, informal gathering just before the wedding. A kind of pre-celebration for family and close friends.
An unconventional party for an unconventional pairing, I thought to myself as I sat near the window, watching people mill around with drinks in their hands.
People laughed and talked about destiny, and how love finds you in ways you least expect, and I tried not to cry.
Dad and Lena had planned a small, informal gathering just before the wedding.
Lena moved through the room with easy confidence, touching shoulders, refilling glasses, smiling at everyone. She wore her hair the way my mom used to — pulled back in a low bun with a few pieces framing her face.
I noticed. I couldn’t stop noticing.
My grandmother found me halfway through the party. She sat beside me and studied my face.
“You look so sad… want to talk about it?”
I hesitated. Then said the truth, quietly, “I don’t understand how this is happening so fast.”
She wore her hair the way my mom used to.
“You mean the wedding?”
“I mean… everything. It feels like Mom didn’t even get time to be gone.”
My grandmother let out a long, shaky breath that seemed to deflate her. Her eyes filled with tears.
She took my hand and whispered, “My dear, you need to know the truth behind all of this. Your mother would have wanted me to tell you everything. We need to go to my house right now. I’ll show you.”
“My dear, you need to know the truth behind all of this.”
We slipped away from the party. No one even noticed, honestly. They were too busy celebrating.
We called a taxi and went to her house. My heart was pounding the whole way there. I didn’t know what she was going to show me, or if I even wanted to know.
When we got there, Grandma went up to the attic.
A short while later, she returned with a box.
I didn’t know what she was going to show me.
The box was heavier than it looked. My grandmother set it down on the dining table carefully. She didn’t open it right away. She sat across from me instead, hands folded, eyes fixed on the wood grain.
“I never dressed them alike.”
“What?”
“People assume twins are always matched,” she went on. “But your mother hated that. She was louder. More confident. She wanted to be seen as herself.”
“I never dressed them alike.”
She lifted the lid. Inside were photo albums and a few old notebooks.
“Lena liked sameness,” my grandmother said. “But once I figured out why, I did everything I could to discourage her.”
She slid one album toward me. The early photos were ordinary: two little girls with near-identical faces, but different energy.
“Lena liked sameness.”
My mom leaned forward, laughing, arm thrown around Lena’s shoulder. Lena smiled carefully, her eyes fixed on whoever was holding the camera.
But as the photos aged, the differences disappeared. During their teen years, college, and early adulthood, they had the same haircut and almost identical outfits.
“Lena copied her?”
“Yes,” my grandmother replied. “She liked it when people confused her for Adrienne, but it wasn’t just about looking the same.”
But as the photos aged, the differences disappeared.
She reached for one of the notebooks. “I found this by accident when they were teenagers. I told myself it was a phase.”
The handwriting was tight, words pressed hard into the page: Everyone listens to her. She walks into a room, and it just happens. I practice what to say, and still disappear.
I turned the page: People say we’re the same, but they never choose me.
My chest tightened. “Did you ever talk to her about it?”
People say we’re the same, but they never choose me.
Grandma shook her head slowly. “I tried, but… she wouldn’t hear me. She said I was favoring your mother. I didn’t want to agitate her further.”
She hesitated, then reached for her tablet.
“This is what matters now.”
She unlocked it and opened a folder. It was filled with screenshots of text and email conversations with Lena. They were all dated after my mother’s death.
“I didn’t want to agitate her further.”
At first, they were practical.
He hasn’t eaten today. I stayed so he wouldn’t be alone.
I’m helping with the bills until he’s steady.
Then came the shift.
He listens to me, Mom. I calm him better than anyone.
Sometimes I think he needs me more than he realizes.
And then, the kicker.
At first, they were practical.
I know how she did things, okay? And he responds when I do them the same way. It feels natural. Like I belong here, like I’ve always belonged here. Adrienne was just a placeholder.
I felt sick. My jaw dropped.
“This wasn’t comfort. Lena maneuvered herself into Mom’s place!”
“I should have stopped it. I told myself grief makes people act strangely, maybe more so for twins. I told myself I couldn’t lose another daughter.” Her voice broke.
Adrienne was just a placeholder.
“Sometimes I wonder if I failed them both.”
“Dad needs to know this.”
I checked the time, and forgot how to breathe.
“They’re getting married in a few minutes!”
Grandma reached for my hand. “You don’t have to go back.”
“I do. Someone needs to expose the truth.”
“Dad needs to know this.”
The taxi ride back seemed to last a lifetime. By the time Grandma and I rushed into the venue, the ceremony had already begun. Lena stood at the front in white, beaming at Dad while he said his vows.
I stepped forward before I could think.
“Wait!”
The word cut through the room.
The ceremony had already begun.
My father turned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not confused, and I’m not acting out of grief. Dad, you can’t marry her.”
Lena’s smile dropped. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because this marriage isn’t about love. It’s about replacement.”
“Dad, you can’t marry her.”
Murmurs rippled through the rows.
I held up the tablet. “Lena, you’ve been copying my mother for years. Her mannerisms. Her role. And when she died, you didn’t just help my dad. You stepped into her life.”
“That’s a lie!”
I turned to my father. “She knew what you needed because she studied it. She didn’t fall in love with you. She waited until you were too broken to tell the difference.”
“She knew what you needed because she studied it.”
Silence.
My father looked at Lena. “Is that true?”
She glanced at the guests, then back at him.
Dad took a step back from her.
“Oh God, it is true, isn’t it?”
The officiant lowered his hands.
“Is that true?”
“I think we should pause,” Dad said. “I think… I can’t do this.”
Lena’s voice cracked. “How can you say that? This was supposed to be my chance.”
I stepped back, my heart pounding but lighter than it had been in a year. For the first time since my mother died, the truth wasn’t being smoothed over.
And this time, I hadn’t stayed quiet.
For the first time since my mother died, the truth wasn’t being smoothed over.