Lena has spent her whole life being excluded, left out of every sibling’s wedding, and treated like an afterthought. But when she refuses to invite them to hers, the truth finally comes out… Faced with betrayal, Lena makes a choice, one that leads to the happiest day of her life.
I used to dream about weddings. Not in the fairytale-princess way, with flowing white dresses and ballroom receptions. No, my dreams were much simpler.
I just wanted to sit in the pews, watch my siblings exchange vows, and be part of their happiness. But I never got that chance. Because every single one of them left me out.
Oak, my oldest brother, got married when I was ten. “You’re too young, Lena,” they said. Then at twelve, another wedding, but I was still not allowed.
At fifteen, I begged Ivy, my sister, to make an exception, but she gave me that fake, sympathetic smile. “If I let you come, Lena, I’d have to let other kids come too. It wouldn’t be fair, you know that.”
When would it be fair?
I wondered for years. When I was seventeen, my brother, Silas, got married. By then, I had stopped caring.
His twin brother, Ezra’s wedding happened soon after, and I didn’t even ask if I could attend. Honestly, what was the point? Why did I have to beg to be a part of my siblings’ big days?
But the heartbreaking part? My step-cousin, who had just turned eighteen, made the cut. And I didn’t.
I sent a half-hearted congrats and spent the evening in my room with my boyfriend, Rowan, who’s now my fiancé. That was the last time I let myself feel hurt over them. So when I started planning my wedding, I made a simple decision:
None of them would be invited.
“Are you sure, Lena?” Rowan asked when he looked at our wedding invitation mock-ups. “I know that they’ve been… problematic.
But do you want to do the same thing? Or do you want to show them that you’re better than them? That you can do things differently?”
“I’m not inviting them, Rowan,” I said.
“I want them to realize that their actions have consequences, and this is one of them. They don’t get to be there. They don’t get to share in our big day.
They don’t get to laugh or cry or clap or throw rice and confetti. Nope.”
“Whatever you want, my love,” he replied, pouring a glass of wine for me. “It’s just that we’re twenty-three years old, you know…
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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