I married my first cousin and revealed our relationship to the family with an intimate video. We were so happy… until tragedy struck

To the seven-year-olds in the bedroom closet, hidden away from the rest of the family party, it seemed little more than a dare – an innocent kiss, a peck, nothing more.

First cousins Michael Lee and Angie Peang had no idea when they stole that first kiss they were breaking a taboo and unwittingly setting in motion years of familial discord and upset.

Because, reunited in later life, these kissing cousins went onto have a full-blown relationship. 

In March 2019, despite objections from many family members, the pair wed in Colorado – one of the 18 states where there are no legal restrictions to the marriage of cousins. And in a move that will shock many, they had a child together.

So perhaps this could never be a story in which all lived ‘happily ever after.’ Indeed, fourteen months after their son, Eric, was born, Lee, who, Peang says, had ‘his demons,’ died of a drug overdose. Some might see this as a sad indicator of a troubled life with a divisive relationship at its center, but not Peang.

In fact, six years after Lee’s death and 37 years on from that first kiss, she tells the Daily Mail that it is has become her life’s mission to campaign for the normalization and legalization of first cousin marriages across the country.

Speaking in an extraordinarily candid interview she says: ‘There are other normal people out there who, like we did, just happen to find themselves in love with their cousin at a time and place where it’s not popular or accepted.’

Reunited in later life, these kissing cousins went onto have a full-blown relationship. (Pictured: Lee and Peang pictured with their newborn son Eric in 2020)

Peang, now 44, and Lee were second graders at the time of that kiss in the closet in 1988. 

The extended family only got together every few years because Peang’s father, who was a diplomat, was based overseas. But whenever they were together the connection between Peang and Lee was, she says, undeniable.

They were both, she recalls, imaginative and creative kids. Lee shared his passion for minerals and rocks with her, and they would find household items like pipe cleaners and fashion them into toy rings.

But as they entered young adulthood, the physical attraction became more apparent. One night, shortly before Peang went to college at the University of Utah, they stayed at their mutual grandmother’s house.

Peang recalls how Lee crept into her bedroom, and they lay next to each other, talking through the night. ‘Our conversations never ended because we related to each other on so many levels,’ Peang says. ‘We saw ourselves reflected in each other, so that intimacy constantly evolved.’

Still, they didn’t cross the line physically.

By the time they reached their twenties, they were reconciled to the fact that they should remain out of each other’s lives and beds.

Both forged their own relationships and married, with Peang going onto have four children.

‘We lost touch, mostly because we wanted to respect each other’s husband or wife,’ she says. ‘Looking back, everything we did was intentional.’

But neither of their marriages lasted. Peang’s ended after nine years and Lee’s after four.

Then, in 2018, when Peang found out by chance on a family Facebook page that Lee was divorced like her and had moved from Texas to Utah, she reached out. They started liking and commenting on various posts before texting by direct message.

They met again in person later that year at a Christmas gift exchange at their grandmother’s house.

Peang, an artist and internet content creator, says she often felt uncomfortable in such settings. Both she and Lee come from large Mormon families and many of their relatives were both religious and conservative. Truth be told she only attended the party in hopes of seeing Lee.

‘I scanned the room, and he was in the back, and he waved,’ she says. ‘I tried to be very polite and not too obvious by avoiding going up to him right away.’

But the attraction was clear the moment they began to chat.

‘We mirrored the other’s gestures,’ Peang says. ‘At one point, I subconsciously licked the side of my mouth, and he did the same. My face lit up and he blushed. I thought, ‘OK, we’re on the same wavelength here.’

She recalls saying goodbye by putting her arms around Lee’s waist for ‘a little bit longer than what you’d expect’. 

That night, when she returned from the party, she googled whether it was legal for cousins to marry in Utah. It wasn’t, due to the long-held fear of genetic birth defects in potential children.

The latest data, published by the UK’s University of Bradford in February, has established that children born to first cousins are twice as likely to carry recessive disorders as those born to unrelated parents. That’s a rate of 6 percent to the rest of the population’s 3 percent.

They are also more likely to experience speech and learning difficulties and have poorer developmental outcomes.

The laws of most of America reflect that reality. As of today, 18 states allow first cousin marriage and eight sanction it within strict limits, most of which are designed to ensure that the union will produce no children.

And even in the states where first cousin marriage is legal with restrictions, sex between first cousins is a criminal offense if it occurs outside them. In most cases the rule is that both parties must be the same sex, over 65, or over 55 if one party is infertile. Twenty-four states have banned it entirely.

‘Things seemed hopeless,’ Peang reflects.

Still, Peang and Lee, a car salesman, couldn’t ignore their feelings for each other. They messaged back and forth over the holidays, discussing their romantic connection, before Lee visited his cousin’s home in January 2019.

Peang asked if he would be OK with sitting close and cuddling. Lee responded that he would. Then she asked if he’d feel comfortable kissing, again he said yes. ‘I was keen to make up for lost time,’ Peang says.

When they did consummate their relationship soon after it was, Peang says, sensational.

In her home state of Utah sex between first cousins is classified as a third-degree felony with a possible penalty of a $5000 fine and up to five years in prison.

Peang, now 44, and Lee were second graders at the time of that kiss in the closet in 1988

The extended family only got together every few years, but whenever they were together the connection between Peang and Lee was, she says, undeniable. (Pictured: Cousin reunion – Peang in the red head band and Lee in a backwards baseball cap)

But mother-of-four Peang has rationalized herself out of any legal or moral objections saying they ‘circumnavigated the incest taboo,’ because the pair had spent so little time together as children.

In a statement that some will find shocking she argues this while stating that the very fact that they were related heightened the couple’s intimacy.

Peang says: ‘I definitely think the intimacy was heightened by being related. But, because we didn’t spend much time growing up together, it circumnavigated the incest taboo.

‘Honestly, there were several factors that brought us together besides physicality. We had similar looks, character traits, and it felt natural and meant to be.’

Meanwhile, Peang’s online research had revealed that they could marry in the neighboring state of Colorado and this got them thinking about making their relationship official.

But, before taking that step they clearly had to come out to the family. They decided to telegraph it through small physical indicators. First, they made a show of holding hands in front of Peang’s children in the car.

Next Peang started to rub Michael’s back. But if the couple hoped this would serve as a gentle way to introduce the new reality to Peang’s children, then ages 17, 15 and 11, they were disappointed.

‘One of them cried,’ Peang says, noting that they had to pull over and talk about the situation.

They also recorded a video for the family’s Facebook page, showing themselves kissing and cuddling. They didn’t want it to be a shameful secret and tried to normalize it. 

‘We presented it as, ‘This is how things are — and we’ll take your questions if you have any,’ Peang says, naively adding: ‘We said we hoped it would bring the family together.’

But it did not.

‘This is not OK,’ one family member wrote on Facebook. ‘I’ll never be OK with this; you share the same blood.’ Another cousin said their grandma would be deeply hurt by them dishonoring the family.

Undeterred, they went ahead and married, driving to Colorado for the ceremony, and posting photos of themselves with their certificate and rings on Facebook. It was a move that only served to worsen the offence already engendered.

‘This isn’t the appropriate place,’ one cousin wrote in disgust.

Peang says she thought she was done having kids but, after discussing the idea with Lee who wanted children of his own, became pregnant within a matter of months. 

Tragically, she miscarried at 10 weeks. ‘One in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage so we were no different than other couples,’ she insists.

But, to be sure, they had genetic testing before trying again.

Peang found the test results encouraging. Although she was shown as a carrier of cystic fibrosis, Lee was negative of all issues. ‘It meant that, even if I were a carrier for 100 things, it wouldn’t matter since we had no matching genes.’

She says their subsequent pregnancy caused confusion for her older kids, who thought it was morally wrong. There were tears, she says, but she insists they came round via the excitement of having a baby brother or sister.

Their son Eric was born healthy and with no complications on May 16, 2020.

Peang says that Lee enjoyed sharing the responsibilities of parenthood, and would feed Eric and rock him to sleep, sing songs and play games.

‘He was a wonderful dad,’ Peang claims. ‘He tried his very best.’ 

Still, during that time, Lee was in and out of rehab as she struggled with drug addiction. His wife tried to intervene — ‘he had his demons,’ she acknowledges — but her efforts proved futile. ‘After a while, I realized I couldn’t ‘fix’ him, but I could walk through this life with him,’ she says.

But just 14 months after Eric’s birth, on July 3, 2021, Lee overdosed and died.

Peang’s mother and mother-in-law helped with the funeral plans. But several family members didn’t come, even though they lived in the same town. Peang says with sorrow that, due to last-minute program changes, she was denied the chance to deliver a eulogy, while other selected speakers took the stand.

‘It was very upsetting for me,’ she says. ‘I felt as if I could have delivered a message to our family that we could reach out to each other more from then on.’

‘He was a wonderful dad,’ Peang claims. ‘He tried his very best.’ Still, during that time, Lee was in and out of rehab as she struggled with drug addiction. (Pictured: Lee with Eric as a baby)

But where Peang and Lee could not fully build the bridges burned by their relationship their son, Eric, has been welcomed by their wider family. She says, ‘My extended family all look upon him with kindness and have been delighted to see him grow up.’

Meanwhile, she has found purpose and focus through continuing the advocacy work which the couple started when they first got together.

They launched a failed petition to have marriage among first cousins legalized in Utah.

Peang, who is fiercely proud of her son Eric’s talents and achievements in pre-Kindergarten, is now an admin for a Facebook group for cousin partners. ‘It helps me cope with Michael’s death by sharing our love story,’ she says. ‘I don’t feel like I’m just one isolated, perverted weirdo.’

She misses Lee every day. ‘We’d go for walks together, marveling as we discussed our cosmic connection that would never fade,’ she adds. 

And despite the pain and the challenges that ‘connection’ caused, at its best, Peang says: ‘It felt like, ‘Wow, we get to be a part of this thing that’s so big and out of the ordinary and so special and so rare.’