She looked at me, eyes glassy with tears. “I’m tired of living in your shadow. I just wanted one moment to feel special.”
Silence filled the church.
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
I walked down the aisle with my mother at my side.
I married Mark.
I wish I could say the day ended joyfully, but the reception felt like walking through fog. Guests tried to act normal, but I saw their sympathetic stares and whispered conversations.
And Stacey? She disappeared.
Still wearing my dress.
She returned hours later, long after most guests had gone. She’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red.
She carried the dress in a garment bag and placed it quietly on a chair.
“Emily,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But then she collapsed into a folding chair and began to sob.
That’s when Mom sat beside her and took her hand.
“Talk to us, sweetheart,” she said.
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