My name is Tessa. I’m 27 years old, and if someone had told me five years ago that my own mother would end up marrying my husband, I would have laughed in their face. Not a polite chuckle—a loud, breathless laugh, followed by a sarcastic, “Yeah, right.” But life has a cruel sense of humor. And sometimes the joke is watching everything you love collapse at once. My mother, Linda, gave birth to me when she was just eighteen. I didn’t grow up wondering whether I was wanted—I knew I…
Read MoreMy husband betrayed me with my own mother—and on the morning they were meant to walk down the aisle together, my cousin called in complete hysteria, shouting, “TESSA, GET HERE NOW! YOU HAVE TO SEE WHAT’S GOING ON!” My name is Tessa. I’m twenty-seven, and growing up never felt safe or loving.
