A year after my mother died, my father told me he was getting married again.; });

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.

“You’re early,” she said with a bright smile.

She was wearing my mother’s apron.

Inside, everything looked staged. Pillows aligned. Counters spotless. It felt like my mom had just stepped out of the room. Dad had never cared about that sort of thing. He used to joke that Mom cleaned like we were expecting company even when we weren’t.

Dinner was pleasant but distant. I noticed small things I couldn’t explain at first. Lena refilled Dad’s glass without asking. Passed him the salt before he reached for it. She knew his habits.

Then Dad cleared his throat.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said. “Lena and I are engaged.”

The words didn’t land properly. They just hovered there.

Lena took his hand, fingers lacing naturally. “I know it’s a lot,” she said softly. “But we’ve been leaning on each other for a long time.”

Dad nodded. “After your mom passed, Lena was here every day. She helped me function. She’s been living here for months.”

Months. I hadn’t known.

He talked about love. About not wasting time. About life being short.

I smiled and nodded because I didn’t know what else to do.

Over the next weeks, everyone praised Lena.
“She stepped right in.”
“Your mom would have wanted this.”
“She’s such a blessing.”

I stayed quiet. I was twenty-three, old enough to understand grief made people do strange things. And I wanted my father to be okay.

But it felt wrong.

At a small pre-wedding gathering, I watched Lena move through the room confidently. She wore her hair the way my mom always had. A low bun, loose strands framing her face. I couldn’t stop noticing.

That’s when my grandmother found me.

“You look heartbroken,” she said gently.

“I don’t understand how this is happening so fast,” I admitted. “It feels like Mom didn’t even get time to be gone.”

My grandmother’s face tightened. She took my hand.

“You need to know the truth,” she whispered. “And I can’t tell you here. Come with me.”

We left quietly and took a taxi to her house. My heart raced the entire way.

She went to the attic and brought down a box filled with photo albums and notebooks.

“I never dressed them alike,” she said suddenly.

I looked at her, confused.

“People think twins want to be the same. Your mother hated that. She wanted to be herself. Lena wanted sameness.”

She opened the albums. In early photos, the difference was clear. My mom laughed freely. Lena smiled carefully, always watching.

As the years went on, they looked more and more alike. Same hair. Same clothes.

“She copied her?” I asked.

“Yes,” Grandma said. “But it wasn’t just appearance.”

She showed me a notebook. The handwriting was tight and heavy.

Everyone listens to her. I practice what to say and still disappear.
They say we’re the same, but they always choose her.

My stomach dropped.

Then Grandma opened her tablet. Messages from Lena, sent after my mother’s death.

At first, they sounded helpful.
He hasn’t eaten today.
I stayed so he wouldn’t be alone.

Then the tone shifted.
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 sick.

“She didn’t just comfort him,” I said. “She replaced Mom.”

Grandma nodded, tears in her eyes. “I was afraid to push her away. I didn’t want to lose another daughter.”

“They’re getting married today,” I said. “Dad needs to know.”

Back at the venue, the ceremony had already started. Lena stood at the front in white, smiling at my father.

“Wait,” I said loudly.

Every head turned.

“You can’t marry her,” I said, my voice shaking. “This isn’t love. It’s replacement.”

I showed Dad the messages. I told him everything.

He looked at Lena, stunned. “Is this true?”

She faltered. Just for a second.

That was enough.

“I can’t do this,” Dad said quietly. “I need to stop.”

The room erupted in whispers. Lena looked at me, her mask finally gone.

“This was supposed to be my chance,” she said.

For the first time since my mom died, I felt like the truth was finally standing in the open.

And I didn’t stay quiet anymore.