I anticipated my father’s funeral to be a day of quiet mourning, a time to honor the man who had been the cornerstone of our family. What I didn’t foresee was how my stepmother would turn it into a spectacle—until a letter from my dad uncovered secrets that left her and her children humiliated before everyone.
The morning was already one of the hardest of my life. I barely managed to hold myself together, knowing I was about to say goodbye to the man who had been my rock. He had been ill for a long time, and while we all knew this day was inevitable, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming grief when it finally arrived.
And then they walked in.
Vivian, my stepmom, breezed in as if she were attending a high-society event, her four grown children following closely behind, all dressed head-to-toe in blinding white—as if they had mistaken the funeral for a yacht party. The stark contrast was appalling. Everyone else wore somber black, heads bowed in grief, but they paraded in as if they were the guests of honor, oblivious to the weight of the occasion.
Anger surged through me, and I pushed through the crowd toward her.
“Vivian,” I hissed through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the murmurs around us. “What on earth are you doing? Why are you dressed like—” I gestured at their outfits, barely able to contain my fury. “Like this?”
She barely acknowledged my anger, giving me a smug, dismissive smile.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, dragging out the words as if I were an overreacting child. “Your father wanted this.”
I was stunned. “Wanted this?” I echoed, my voice rising despite my attempt to stay calm. “There’s no way Dad would’ve—”
Vivian interrupted, reaching into her designer handbag and producing a neatly folded letter. “He wrote me a letter,” she said, holding it out like it was a golden ticket. “He told me, ‘Vivian, you and the kids are to wear white. It’s my last wish.’”
I stared at the letter, disbelief and confusion swirling in my mind. “No,” I whispered. “That can’t be true.”
Vivian’s eyes gleamed as she sighed. “Oh, but it is. He wanted something special, and we’re simply honoring his final wishes.”
The audacity of it all was too much. I felt the weight of the stares around us as whispers spread through the crowd. Before I could respond, she turned and led her children to the front row, like they were VIPs at some exclusive event.
The ceremony began, and as much as I tried to focus on honoring my dad, the sight of them sitting proudly in their glaring white outfits gnawed at me. They were basking in the attention, while I simmered in silent rage.
Then, Joe, my father’s best friend, stepped forward to speak. He held a letter in his hand, his face strained with emotion. As he began reading, I noticed a shift in Vivian’s expression. What started as smug confidence quickly turned to unease.
Leave a Reply