I was 11 when my father died. My mother's sister and my Uncle took us in. For many days my Aunt and me would sit outside in the sitting room while my Uncle had my mother in the room teaching her that he was now her husband. When she was allowed to leave the room she would take me by the hand to the room we slept in. I would ask her why she refused him, but she had no answer. She had to call him husband, but she would bite her tongue, but it didn't matter. My Uncle was her husband anyway and she had several children by him. Although my Uncle called her a wife, and my Aunt called her a wife, she would tell me that she was not really his wife, but never to his children, in front of them she was always very respectful. In the end, she was a wife to my Uncle for many more years than to my father. Only after my Uncle died, did she call him husband.