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.
A woman applying cream on her face | Source: Pexels
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.
Grayscale photo of a smiling young woman with braces | Source: Pexels
“You want to move in with your boyfriend at 21? Remember how that worked out for Lucy.”
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