And for the first time in months, Stacey let it all out.
“I’ve been depressed,” she admitted. “I lost my job months ago. I’ve been lying to everyone, pretending I’m okay. But I’m not. I barely get out of bed. I scroll through pictures of happy people and feel like I’ll never be one of them.”
She looked at me, tears streaming down her face.
“I didn’t want to ruin your wedding. I just… wanted to matter.”
Her pain was real. And it cracked something open inside me.
I knelt beside her and whispered, “We’re going to help you. We’re not letting you go through this alone.”
A Year Later
The next week, she started therapy with a specialist, Dr. Martinez. She’s been consistent—weekly sessions, daily journaling, medication. She found a new job she enjoys. She talks to me every few days. Slowly, we’re rebuilding our bond.
That day—the day she stole my dress—was devastating.
But it was also the day we finally saw the pain she’d been hiding.
It wasn’t the wedding I planned. But maybe it was the one that needed to happen. Because if it helped my sister step out of the darkness… maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t entirely a loss.
