Marisol nodded. “Of course.”
Vivian’s voice cracked. “Claire, please. Guests are arriving.”
Through the glass, guests moved in bright blurs across the courtyard. Music floated faintly—a violin warming up for a ceremony that now had no certainty.
I looked at my sister.
For years, I had made myself useful enough to be tolerated. I bought gifts. Covered emergencies. Smoothed over insults. I kept believing love would come if I paid enough interest on old pain.
But love doesn’t shrink you.
Cruelty does.
“You can still have your wedding,” I said. “Pay for it.”
Daniel let out a harsh laugh. “With what?”
“That sounds like a groom problem.”
Vivian stood up. “You’d destroy me over one comment?”
“No,” I said. “I’m ending a pattern over one final comment.”
Then I sent the email I had drafted in the hallway. Not emotional. Not messy. Just precise. It went to the venue, caterer, florist, photographer, DJ, and planner.
I formally withdrew authorization for any unpaid charges in my name.
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