Divorcing my dead sister’s husband

When I opened my eyes, the clock read 5:00 AM. Alex's steady breathing beside me felt like a countdown five years of marriage ending in less than twenty-four hours.

I traced the outline of the wedding band I'd worn since agreeing to marry my dead sister's husband. For Sam. Always for Sam. That broken little boy with eyes that had seen too much tragedy.

"You can do this," I whispered, careful not to wake Alex.

I slipped from beneath the covers, my bare feet silent against the cold hardwood. The predawn light painted the room in shades of gray as I made my way to the balcony doors, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.

One more day of pretending. One more day of being the replacement.

My phone lit up with Mrs. Walker's text: *Are you going through with this? Sam needs stability.*

I closed my eyes, remembering Sam's birthday cake smeared across my face, the venom in his voice when he'd sneered, "You'll never be my mom."

No response seemed adequate. Mrs. Walker, for all her good intentions, couldn't understand that Sam didn't need stability he needed someone he didn't hate.

The floorboards creaked behind me. I spun around, expecting Alex, but found the doorway empty. Shaking off the unease, I headed downstairs to start breakfast the same routine I'd followed for five years.

My foot caught on something in the hallway. Pain shot through me as I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. Looking down, I saw the scattered pieces of my mother's bracelet the only thing I had left of her.

"Looking for this?" Sam stood at the top of the stairs, eyes cold beyond his years.

"Sam," I said softly. "That was my mother's."

"I know." His small shoulders squared. "Do you know how much I hate you?"

I stepped toward him, blood dripping from where a jagged piece had cut my foot. "Sam, please"

"You think you can replace her?" He followed me into the kitchen, his voice rising. "You're nothing! You're not even my mom."

I pressed a dish towel to my bleeding foot, letting his words wash over me like they had so many times before.

"When I grow up, I'm kicking you out!" he shouted.

Something snapped inside me. "You won't have to," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "I'm leaving tomorrow."

His eyes widened the first genuine surprise I'd seen on his face in months.

I limped to the bathroom to bandage my foot. The crash from upstairs made my heart stop. I knew before I even reached the bedroom.

My mother's photo lay shattered across the floor the last image I had of her. I dropped to my knees, tears blurring my vision as I gathered the broken pieces.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Sam stood in the doorway. "That's what you get for killing my mom."

I froze. "What did you say?"

"If you hadn't called her that night, she wouldn't have been driving. She'd still be here. Not you." His voice cracked. "Murderer."

Five years of restraint disappeared. I grabbed his arm, pulling him toward me. "Pick them up," I demanded, voice shaking. "Pick up every piece right now!"

His eyes widened in shock he'd never seen me break.

"Let go of him!" Alex's hand crashed into my shoulder, sending me sprawling onto the glass-covered floor.

"What the hell, Daniela?" Alex's face contorted with anger. "It's just a picture! What's wrong with you?"

Just a picture. As if the last image of my mother meant nothing.

"I thought you were better than this," he said, pulling Sam protectively behind him. "You owe him an apology."

I stayed silent, blood and tears mixing on the floor as Alex guided Sam from the room. When he returned, he helped me to the bed with a gentleness that confused me.

That confusion vanished when his hand slid to my blouse, fingers working at the buttons. "Let me help you forget," he murmured. "It's been a while."

His weight pressed me into the mattress, hands rough and demanding. The familiar feeling of being used a replacement in every way washed over me.

"No." I shoved against his chest with both hands, catching him off guard.

He fell back, surprise quickly turning to irritation. "What's your problem?"

I sat up, pulling my torn blouse closed. "I want a divorce, Alex."

The words hung between us, sharp and final.

His face darkened as he reached for me again. "You don't mean that."

I jerked away. "I've never meant anything more."