I had given that coat to my grandmother, my mother’s mother, Iris. I drove to her house that afternoon and found the red coat hanging by the door, still damp from the morning dew. Iris didn’t deny anything. Her hands shook as she spoke. She sat at her kitchen table and admitted she had been following my father on every date for months. She had made the fake article herself, on her computer.

Twelve years ago, my father had been driving the night of the accident that killed my mother. A truck ran a red light. The police cleared him completely. But Iris never forgave him for surviving. When he started dating, she found his schedule through the family calendar we all shared, followed him, and frightened away every woman who might replace her daughter. She had even sat in her car outside Jessica’s apartment all night.