I thought the absolute worst part would be helplessly watching him marry the woman who had so ruthlessly destroyed our family when my dad called to extend an invitation for my 12-year-old brother and me to his wedding. I had absolutely no idea that my quiet, unassuming little brother had been meticulously planning something that would, in the end, make their supposedly “special day” truly remarkable for entirely different reasons.
My name’s Tessa. I’m 25 now, and I have a younger brother, Owen, who is currently 12 years old.
He used to be the happiest, most genuinely kind-hearted kid I knew in the entire world. But after what brutally occurred to our family, I watched that inherent softness within him slowly, painstakingly destroyed, piece by agonizing piece.
Our dad, Evan, had been secretly cheating on our mom with a woman from his very own workplace. Her name was Dana. Dana with the blindingly white smile and always-perfectly-styled hair, who worked in his accounting firm, just a few cubicles down. My mom tragically found out about the affair when she came home unexpectedly early from grocery shopping one ordinary Thursday afternoon.
I’ll never, ever forget the way she instantly dropped that delicate potted plant she was holding, shattering it on the floor.
“Linda, I can explain everything, just please,” Dad pleaded, his voice laced with desperation. But Mom didn’t utter a single word. She simply turned around, her face expressionless, and silently walked up the stairs to their shared bedroom. What unraveled next was messier and far uglier than anything I’d ever witnessed in even the most dramatic movies.
“Did you know, Tessa?” she asked me once, her voice barely a whisper, filled with raw pain. “Did you see any signs that I tragically missed along the way?” I truly didn’t know, but I desperately wished I had. Maybe, just maybe, I could have somehow warned or concerned her, prevented the inevitable heartbreak.
My mom, bless her heart, still optimistically thought she could change everything, somehow fix the irreparable, for weeks after she first discovered the devastating truth. She bravely went to counseling sessions alone when Dad adamantly refused to go with her, dismissing her pain. She wrote him long, heartfelt letters, meticulously explaining how profoundly much she still loved him and how they could, perhaps, work through it all together, as a united couple. “22 years, Tessa,” she confided in me, her voice heavy with the weight of history. “We’ve been together since college. That has to mean something, anything, to him, doesn’t it?” But it heartbreakingly didn’t mean a thing to him in the end.
Dad moved in with Dana a mere three weeks after callously serving Mom with the official divorce papers, severing their long-standing bond. I vividly remember Owen sitting silently in our shared bedroom that first devastating night after Dad had packed all his belongings and left, whispering into the suffocating darkness, his voice small and fragile, “Does Dad love her more than he loves us, Tessa?” “He loves us, Owen. He’s just utterly confused right now, buddy,” I lied, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. “Then why doesn’t he want to live with us anymore, Tessa?” he pressed, his innocent logic piercing my flimsy explanation. I simply held him tightly, pulled him close, and gently kissed his forehead, fighting back my own welling tears. “I don’t know, buddy. I really, truly don’t know the answer.”
Mom tried valiantly to hold herself together, to appear strong for our sake, but I could clearly see her breaking apart, piece by painful piece, day by day. Fast forward a year after the agonizing divorce was finalized, and suddenly, shockingly, there’s a wedding announcement. My dad, Evan, calls me on a mundane Tuesday evening, his voice unsettlingly cheerful.
“Hey, sweetheart! How’s work going for you these days?” he asked, as if nothing had ever happened between us. “Fine, Dad. What’s up? Why are you calling?” I replied, my voice flat, devoid of any genuine warmth. “Well, I wanted to let you know that Dana and I are getting married next month. It’s going to be a simple backyard ceremony at her sister’s house. Simple, but very nice, you know. I really, truly want you and Owen there with us. It would honestly mean the world to me to have my kids celebrating this special day with us.”
I stood frozen in my kitchen, phone tightly clutched in my hand, an overwhelming urge to either laugh hysterically or perhaps scream at the top of my lungs. Or, more accurately, both emotions simultaneously, battling for control.
