I stayed home while my ex-husband married my sister. But when my other sister exposed him mid-toast and drenched them in red paint, I knew I had to see it for myself. Hi, my name’s Lucy.
I’m 32, and up until about a year ago, I thought I had the kind of life most people dream of. A steady job, a cozy house, and a husband who kissed my forehead before work and left little notes in my lunchbox. I worked as a billing coordinator for a dental group just outside of Milwaukee.
It wasn’t glamorous, but I enjoyed it. I liked my routine and my lunch-hour walks. I liked the feel of warm socks out of the dryer, and the way Oliver, my husband, used to say, “Hi, beautiful,” even when I was still wearing zit cream.
But maybe I should’ve known life wasn’t going to stay that simple. I grew up in a house with three younger sisters, and if that doesn’t teach you about chaos, nothing will. There’s Judy, who’s 30 now, tall, blonde, and always the center of attention.
Even at 13, she had that effortless thing going on. People gave her free stuff for no reason. Then there’s Lizzie, the middle child, calm and analytical, who once convinced a mall cop to drop a shoplifting charge using nothing but logic and charm.
And finally, there’s Misty, 26, dramatic, unpredictable, and somehow both the baby and the boss of all of us. She once got into a shouting match at a Starbucks because they spelled her name ‘Missy’ on the cup. I was the oldest and the dependable one.
The first to get braces, the first to have a job, and the one Mom used as a cautionary tale whenever the others wanted to do something stupid. “You want to move in with your boyfriend at 21? Remember how that worked out for Lucy.”
I didn’t mind it most days.
I liked being the helper, the one who knew how to patch drywall or file taxes. Whenever any of them needed something, whether it was rent money, a ride to a job interview, or someone to hold their hair back at 3 a.m., they called me. And I always showed up.
And when I met Oliver, it finally felt like someone was showing up for me. He was 34, worked in IT, and had this calm energy that made you feel like everything was going to be okay. He made me laugh until my stomach hurt, brewed tea when I had migraines, and would tuck me in when I fell asleep on the couch watching true crime documentaries.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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