On Christmas Day, 2021, we got the call that my stepdad, Doug, had passed away. My husband, Eric, and I were shocked. It was so unexpected—and on Christmas, no less. We raced across the state of Indiana to be with Mom. We found her sitting on the couch with my brothers, Mike and Tim. We all hugged and cried for a long time. Mom was clearly exhausted. We let her get to bed, then discussed next steps.
“Holly will be here in the morning,” Tim said.
I nodded but said nothing. Holly was the second oldest of Doug’s four daughters from his first marriage, and the one who lived the closest, so she would be here first. The two of us were cordial, but I always felt a little awkward around Doug’s biological children. I was self-conscious. I didn’t want to seem as if I were acting like a full-fledged daughter. Still, Doug and I had grown exceptionally close over the years.
Later that night, Eric and I were lying on the pull-out bed in Mom’s spare room when he said, “Something is bothering you. Is it Holly? I’ve only met her a few times, but she’s always seemed nice.”
“She is nice,” I said. “I like her. But I feel like I can’t let my emotions show too much, not around his daughters. I can’t break down in front of Holly.”
“Only blood relatives can cry when a person dies?”
“No, of course not. But tomorrow should be about Holly and her sisters. They lost their dad, not me.”
Eric squeezed my hand. “Doug loved you, honey.”
My mom and Doug had married in 2000. It was a second marriage for both of them. At fi rst, I thought of him only as my mom’s husband. I kept a distance.
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