Eight days after my mother’s death, my dad married her sister. While guests clinked champagne and smiled for photos, I was behind the shed, hearing a truth that shattered everything. It started with one whispered sentence, and ended with a secret they never expected me to uncover.You think there’s a rock bottom.You think it’s the knock at the door, the uniformed officer shifting awkwardly in your foyer, asking if your name was Tessa. You think it’s the sound your dad makes, part animal, part human, like something splitting in two.You think it’s the way your knees hit the floor before your brain catches up.

But you’re… wrong.Rock bottom is when your dad stands in the backyard, eight days later, wearing a boutonniere and holding hands with your aunt.I was 30 when it happened. My mom’s name was Laura, and it was a car accident. One second, she was picking up her prescription, the next, a police officer was standing on our porch, hat in hand, lips forming impossible words.The days after didn’t feel real. There were just casseroles, wilting flowers, and my aunt Corrine pretending to be the most upset.”We’ll get through this,” she said over and over. “Everything will be fine, Tessa. We’ll get through this, I promise.”Apparently, she meant it… with my father.Aunt Corrine was my mom’s sister, and she was the one who sobbed the loudest at the funeral. The one who clutched my hands in the kitchen and kept promising me the world.