A few years later, my father married Linda.
She never tried to replace anyone. She never touched my mother’s belongings without asking. She never demanded that I call her Mom or acted wounded when I didn’t. She simply kept showing up
She packed my lunches.
She sat through school plays.
She waited up when I came home late.
She became my mother so slowly that I never noticed the exact moment it happened.
Then my dad died two years ago.
After the funeral, after the paperwork, after the neighbors stopped bringing casseroles, it was just me and Linda.
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