“She’s always been quite the dancer,” he muses, more to himself than to me.
I feel the weight of his words, a reminder of the favoritism that has always been there.
My sister laughs, the sound carrying above the music, light and carefree.
I wonder if she feels the strain of the situation, or if she revels in it.
The song ends, applause once again filling the space.
They return to the table, my husband brushing past me with a murmured apology.
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