Short, short story by Becky Ruth Powell
She looked at the name on the wedding cake. She couldn’t remember whether she was Lisa, or Beth, or Mary. She was Lenora this time. She looked at her new in-laws, who adored her. Mother, aunt, sister, like three scoops of sherbet in pastel dresses, strands of pearls buried in folds of neck-fat.
Lenora considered whether she’d rushed things by spiking his cup of wedding punch, but when his head plopped onto her shoulder she dismissed doubt.
Amid the chaos of death, she inherited his sizable estate. Her in-laws fussed so over her well-being, she grew fond of being Lenora.