My father married my aunt just eight days after my mother’s funeral, but a discovery at the wedding changed everything.

We believe that there is a bottom to grief.

We think the worst part is the uniformed police officer on the doorstep. The words “car accident.” His father’s strangled scream.

We are mistaken.

The absolute bottom of the abyss is seeing your father, eight days later, in a light suit in the garden, ready to marry your mother’s sister.

My name is  Camille . I was thirty years old when my mother,  Isabelle , died.

The days that followed were a blur: withered flowers, dishes brought by neighbors, my aunt  Sophie  crying louder than everyone else.

Three days after the funeral, she already sported an impeccable manicure.

Eight days after my mother’s death, she married my father.

The Tulip Garden

The ceremony took place in our garden, where my mother planted tulips every spring.

I saw Sophie asking for them to be torn off.

“It will look better in the photos.”

I was still wearing black. My father was smiling as if he had just been reborn.

When I dared to ask him if he didn’t think it was premature, he replied:

“Not today, Camille.”

It wasn’t a question of timing.

It was a choice.

The murmur behind the shed

I took refuge behind the shed, away from the champagne glasses and congratulations.

That’s where Lucas, Sophie’s son, joined me. He was nineteen years old, with a pale face.

“The ring she’s wearing… I saw it at Christmas,” he told me.

My heart sank.

“She told me that your father had already chosen it. She showed me the case.”

Christmas.

My mother was still alive.

He sent me a photo of a small card tucked inside the box. The name of the jewelry store. An order number.

I didn’t cry. I took my keys and left.

The proof

At the jewelry store, I gave the details.

“White gold ring, surrounded by diamonds. Purchased in December by  Julien .”

The saleswoman turned the screen towards me.

December 18.

My mother was still baking Christmas cookies that day.

I took a picture of the receipt.

Then I went back to the ceremony.

The truth amidst the champagne glasses

I was handed a microphone to “say a few words”.

I stepped forward.

“Eight days ago, I buried my mother. Today, I watch her sister wearing a ring my father bought while she was still alive.”