He Chose My Stepsister, So I Chose His Brother

The day I buried my father, my husband, Marcus Pierce, didn’t come to the funeral.

Instead, my stepsister, Bianca, sent me a photo. It was Marcus, on his knees, kissing her stomach.

Guess who’s finally going to be a father.

My breath caught. My hands shook.

No. No, no, no.

I blinked through tears, praying it was some sick joke.

Then came the second photo: Bianca in my robe, in my bedroom, taking a selfie while Marcus slept behind her in my bed.

My knees buckled.

Right there at my father’s grave, I collapsed.

That night, Marcus came home with Bianca and her bags.