In between

The news stunned everyone. He appeared for a while and then disappeared. Aneurysm, the physician declared. As the doctor positioned my mother on the sofa and informed me of my father's condition, she appeared pale and weak. He had died instantly after collapsing on the steps. He had been absent for the majority of my life, and now his absence was permanent.
My mom had been the one to track him down, as she was working from home when it happened. I ran home from work as soon as the doctor called to make sure my mom was okay. Just fifteen minutes separated us, so I was quickly by her side. The sheer magnitude of it all seems to have immobilized her. At twenty-five years old, I felt like an adult and wanted to make a difference. Not that there were very numerous relatives to contact, but once I understood what to do, I got to work.
After speaking with my mom's sister and a few distant relatives, I asked if there were any friends we should inform. The fact that she was so alone reminded us how little we understood about my dad's background. At least we believed we knew where he worked. He had changed positions over three years ago, according to the business I called. They provided me with a number to call. I engaged in a compassionate conversation with a woman in HR at the civil engineering firm where he worked. Because there was no one else I could tell. I didn't mind because I was only trying to help, even though she usually doesn't eat sugar. Without saying a word, she dropped it.
We saw an undertaker the next day, and she seemed more like herself. We were relieved by how much work he could do for us. After that, we went to the registrar's office to officially file for death. A flurry of mail to banks, government offices, and organizations over the following few days ended our options, leaving us with three weeks to wait before the burial.
Neither of us wanted to talk about or think about his death for a while. We were both back at our jobs. In the evenings, we would only talk about real-life issues, such as what to do with his clothing. Neither of us seemed very sad, and we certainly didn't want to be the ones to break the news first.
That is not to suggest that our lives were unaffected by my father's passing. Even though my mom seemed exhausted and drawn, I could tell she was relieved. Their marriage seems to have been in a state of intermittent stability due to his extensive work schedule. It felt like every other year around Christmas, anniversaries, and birthdays, he was too busy with an important job to be there. After a few days or weeks abroad, he would return home, take care of his mail and washing, and then embark on another crucial and inevitable task.
Having a close connection with him was never my priority. Because of the immense shame I felt, I was numb.
I worked up the nerve to ask my mom whether she missed him around a week after his death. For example, she said, "How can you miss someone who was hardly ever here?" I believed her, even if she was being dramatic. That settled the question of her affection for him for me. When did she realize she no longer loved him? I was curious. I felt bad for her because she was 47 years old, married for 26 years, and had accomplished nothing. It was just me, a huge void, and nothing else. I felt an overwhelming need to protect her and show her how much I loved her.
As I was going to confirm my mother's statement, the doorbell rang. I yelled out that I would answer it from halfway upstairs, then hurried back downstairs to the front door. An attractive woman, who appeared somewhat distressed, stood there; she was around my mother's age. Her skirt suit and high heels were rather lovely, I must say. Being someone who tends to notice such things quite a bit, I couldn't help but note how lovely her legs were.
"Is this the address where Mrs. Renata Focker resides?" she said, her voice slightly quivering.
"Yes, who shall I say is calling?"
"Mrs. Focker"
Yes, I will fetch her for you. "She's here now," I said. I failed to discern your given name.
"No, I mean, I'm Mrs. Focker, Mrs. Marline Focker."
"Ah, I get it. That is only a coincidence, you know.
"Who is it, Cal?" my mom said as she materialized in the corridor. "
"Ah, right, this lady is asking for you; she's Mrs.Focker, as well."
The woman. Is this Renata Focker? A curvy woman inquired.
"Indeed, that's correct."Am I of use to you?"
We need to communicate privately, right? I'm about to reveal some important information.
"Well, I guess so. Feel free to enter." He lounge. "Come in, and we'll make our way there."
"Is this your son?"
"Yes, this is Callin."
I responded, "Hi," attempting to seem nice while simultaneously considering how I would want to approach her.
"I think he should also hear what I have to say."
"Please, come through; do sit down," my mom begged.
"No, thank you; I'll stand up." In conclusion. You two are in for a rude awakening.
We were all facing each other as the nervous but determined visitor took a moment to gather herself before delivering her important news—whatever that may be—while I admired her figure—her slim waist, her flat stomach, and her beautiful breasts.
"As I've just told your son, my name is Marline Focker, Mrs. Marline Focker, or so I thought until this morning."
Okay, I get that, but am I really? my mom said.
"Is your husband no longer with you?"
"Yes, but I don't see what that is."
"Jim Focker? "Is that his name?" What is the date? It's March 18, 1973."
"Er, I see your point, but..."
"When did you get married?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't see how this is any of your business."
"Please tell me."
"We got married in July 1997; why are you asking me these questions?"
"Because your husband married me on June 12, 1998," our guest explained after taking a big breath.
After a lengthy, dramatic pause, my mother and I exchanged looks before she sank slowly onto the sofa, her face contorted with incredulity. I offered no more than to ask if I should turn on the kettle, a feeble inquiry that went unanswered by both women. Since I was at a loss for what to do, I answered my own question by hustling into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea that would go unfinished.
I could hear snippets of an angry argument from the kitchen. Marline wanted my mom to look at some photos and a marriage license, which she vehemently denied having any value. Marline informed my mom that she was married to "Jim's daughter," but she quickly admitted that she actually lived with my dad near Watford, about an hour away from his other marital home, where he lived with my mom in Guildford. My mom and I live in Guildford.
Her 'husband' had died, she said, but she hadn't heard the news until the day before. She had expected his return home a few days earlier. She ultimately located a payslip in her jacket pocket and called the firm, where she had a bewildering chat with a perplexed and embarrassed woman in the personnel department since he wasn't answering his phone.
She was at a loss for what to do at first, but after some thought, she came to the conclusion that she needed to locate my father's second wife and speak with her. She felt it was best to come clean, since she despised the idea of my mom being ashamed to learn that her spouse was a bigamist when my dad was younger.
When Marline wanted to know more about the burial, their tense talk ended. My mom didn't take it well, but I overheard Marline trying to reassure her by explaining that she was leaving her contact information so that my mom might reach out once she had a chance to process what must have been shocking news. shock.
Capturing Marline as she walked out the front door was a rewarding endeavor; just looking back at her gorgeous legs and curves made it all worthwhile. Her piercing blue eyes met mine, captivating me. ten times. I felt a flutter of excitement as she shook my hand and expressed her sorrow for my loss. I was prepared to do anything if an epiphany had struck me, and I said, "I've got a sister."
"Yes, she looks like you; you both inherited your father's good looks."
I wanted to compliment her on how beautiful she is, but I restrained myself since I felt it would be inappropriate.
Could you maybe do me a favor?"
She should have known.
Of course, I would say "yes."
"Please persuade your mother to notify me of the funeral's specifics." "I'm pretty determined to go anyhow, but, given the circumstances, I want her to feel that she's agreed to me and my family being there."
Her altruism and concern for my mother's sentiments touched me, and I found her quite attractive.
There's no need to fret; I have faith that she will understand. You must have also found this challenging.
"Tell me about it." "It was shocking