“Stacey,” I managed to say, my voice shaking, “What are you doing?”
She looked at me, eyes glassy with tears. “I’m tired of living in your shadow. I just wanted one moment to feel special.”
Then my mom stood up.
She walked to the front with a calm strength only mothers possess. She took my hand and turned toward Stacey.
“This is Emily,” she said firmly. “Her day. Her wedding.”
She looked at my sister with tears in her eyes.
“Stacey, I love you. But stealing your sister’s joy—that’s not how we deal with pain. If you’re hurting, you come to us. But you don’t hurt the people who love you.”
Stacey’s expression softened. She stepped back, shaken, and quietly took a seat in the back pew.
Mom turned to me again.
“You don’t need a perfect dress to be a beautiful bride,” she said, her voice cracking. “Your strength, your heart, your love for Mark—that’s what matters.”
What Came After
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