Two hours later, I stood at the back of the church in that backup dress, trying to smile.
Just as the music began, the church doors behind me creaked open.
And there she was.
Stacey.
Wearing my wedding dress.
She looked radiant, bouquet in hand, walking confidently down the aisle like she belonged there.
She reached the altar and turned to the stunned guests.
“I’m sorry,” she announced, her voice steady. “But this day was supposed to be mine.”
Gasps filled the air.
“I’m ten minutes older. I should’ve been the first to marry. But Emily—she always gets everything. The better job, the nicer boyfriend, everyone’s praise.”
I finally found my voice. “Stacey, what are you doing?”
She looked at me with watery eyes. “I’m tired of living in your shadow. I just wanted one moment to feel seen. To feel special.”
The room fell into stunned silence—until Mom rose from her seat.
She walked calmly to the altar and took my hand.
“This is Emily,” she said clearly. “Her day. Her wedding. Stacey, I love you. But stealing your sister’s joy is not how we fix our hurt.”
Her voice cracked. “If you’re hurting, you come to me. But you don’t hurt your sister to make yourself feel better.”
Stacey’s defiant mask faltered. She backed away, lips trembling, and retreated to the back pew in silence.
CONTINUE READING ON THE NEXT PAGE 🥰💕
