On the morning of my wedding, I woke up certain of exactly two things.
First, I was going to marry the man I loved.
Second, no matter what happened, my mother would find a way to make the day about my sister.
I just didn’t realize how far she was willing to go—or how far Michael had already gone behind all of our backs.
The first thing I remember clearly is the silence.
Not the pleasant kind, like the hush that falls before the music starts or the soft murmur of guests waiting for the bride. No, this was a suffocating, stunned kind of silence, the kind that presses against your eardrums and makes your heart pound in your throat.
I was standing at the edge of the aisle in an old Chicago mansion, the kind with ivy curling up the brick walls and stained-glass windows that painted the floor in little splashes of color. My fingers were locked around my bouquet, knuckles white, the delicate lace of my family’s heirloom wedding dress itching at the back of my neck.
I was supposed to step forward.
The string quartet had just finished the processional.
The bridesmaids—my friends in pastel dresses that fluttered like watercolor—were lined up near the altar, their eyes shiny, their smiles wide. Our guests had risen from their seats. All eyes were supposed to be on me.
Instead, every single head in the room had turned toward the center of the aisle.
Toward her.
My sister, Valerie, was walking toward the altar in a wedding dress.
For a second I honestly believed I’d blacked out or started hallucinating.
I blinked once, hard. Twice. The image didn’t change.
She was there—veil, bouquet, a white gown that was a little flashier and more dramatic than mine on purpose, I could tell. Her lips were painted in that red she knew our mother loved. Her smile was… wrong.
Too wide. Too satisfied.
Whispers rolled through the room like a wave.
“Is that…?”
“Wait, is she—?”
“What the hell is going on?”
Valerie’s eyes never left Michael, my groom, standing at the altar. He looked handsome in his dark suit, hair slicked back, jaw clean-shaven.
For months, the sight of him had made me feel safe.
Now he just looked… unreadable.
My chest constricted, air hacking in and out of my lungs in short bursts. I tried to step forward, tried to say something, but my feet felt bolted to the polished floor.
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