Laura squeezed Dad’s hand harder. “We love each other. And we’re getting married.”
The words felt wrong—too fast, too practiced. I remember nodding, though I don’t recall deciding to. My brother said nothing. He just walked out.
Later that night, he called me.
“This isn’t right. None of it feels right.”
“It’s grief,” I replied automatically. “People do strange things.”
I’m not sure who I was trying to convince.
In the weeks that followed, everything happened quickly—and quietly. No announcements. No celebration. Just paperwork, appointments, and hushed conversations they assumed we couldn’t hear.
Laura tried a few times to involve me.
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