My parents missed the funeral of my husband and both our kids to sing happy birthday to my sister.
Chapter 1 - The Day They Chose the Candles
When I finally reached my parents by phone, I was sitting alone in the little hospital chapel with gray ash still smeared across my palms. It had come off the guardrail, off the pavement, off everything I'd touched at the scene before a paramedic pried me away.
That morning my husband, Marcus Rourke, had been driving our two kids down Interstate 40 just west of Raleigh, North Carolina. Isla was seven. Owen was four.
A trucker fell asleep behind the wheel, drifted across the median, and hit their SUV head-on before Marcus ever got the chance to touch the brakes.
All three of them d*ed.
I was alive for one reason only. I hadn't been in the car.
That thought kept sawing through me, over and over. I was still breathing because I'd stayed home to fold laundry.
I called my father first.
Music and laughter poured through the speaker before he even said hello. Silverware clinked against plates. Somewhere in the background I could hear my sister, Vivian, herding everyone toward the table to watch her blow out her candles.
"Dad," I said. My voice came out as barely a breath. "There's been an accident."
"What kind of accident?" he asked, half his attention clearly still on the room.
"Marcus is gone." My throat clamped down so hard I had to shove the next words out. "Isla and Owen too."
The line went quiet for a couple of seconds. Then I heard the phone change hands.
"Cora, what do you mean, gone?" my mother said.
"They d*ed this morning. On the highway." I pressed my hand flat against the cold wooden pew. "The funeral is Saturday. Please. I need you both there."
My father took the phone back.
"Saturday," he repeated.
"Yes."
He exhaled slowly, the way he does when someone hands him a problem that inconveniences him.
"Cora, Saturday is Vivian's birthday dinner. We booked that table over a month ago. The whole family's coming in for it."
I had honestly believed the accident had already scooped me completely empty. Somehow his voice found a spot deep inside me that could still be hurt.
"Dad. My husband and both my children are d*ad."
"I heard you," he answered, in the exact same tone he'd use to talk about a chance of rain. "But today is your sister's birthday. We can't come."
He hung up before I could beg him a second time.
At the funeral, I stood in the front row between three caskets while Marcus's parents held me up on either side. His mother sobbed so hard she kept losing her breath and gripping the pew. His father, Walter, kept one heavy hand locked on my shoulder, like he was scared I might tip forward into the ground with them.
My half of the church was almost bare.
My parents didn't come. Vivian didn't come. Not one cousin, not one uncle.
The only person who showed up for me was my Aunt Marlene. She drove six hours straight after a neighbor mentioned the crash to her, because nobody in my own family had picked up a phone to tell her.
Three days after we buried them, my mother sent me a text.
*Hope you're holding up okay. Just so you know, Vivian was really hurt that you didn't even text her a happy birthday.*
I read it so many times the letters stopped making sense.
May you like
Something inside me went quiet then — not peaceful, not numb, but final.
*What did Cora do after her family picked a birthday cake over three coffins? Comment "NEXT" and Part 2 is waiting in the comments.*
