Moja siostra powiedziała, że ​​jestem ciężarem i nie uwzględniała mnie w zdjęciach ślubnych, ale ceremonia obnażyła prawdę na oczach wszystkich… Kiedy moja siostra, Emily, po raz pierwszy nazwała mnie „ciężarem”, pomyślałam, że źle usłyszałam.

 The officiant tried to recover the mood, but the vineyard was restless. Guests were whispering about the sudden gust of wind and Emily’s stumble. She forced a brittle smile, gripping her bouquet so tightly that her knuckles went white. I could see it in her eyes—she wasn’t worried about me; she was worried about how people perceived her, whether they thought she looked clumsy on her “perfect” day.

I wanted to shrink into the background, to avoid drawing more attention. But the truth was, people were still glancing at me, some even smiling with quiet acknowledgment. They’d seen what had happened. They’d seen Emily lean against my chair for balance.

The ceremony pushed on, but it was riddled with small disasters. The microphone cut out again during the vows, forcing Emily to raise her voice in a tone that sounded shrill instead of romantic. A toddler in the audience started crying and wouldn’t stop. The unity candle she and her fiancé, Mark, tried to light blew out twice because of the breeze.

Mark handled it with humor—he chuckled, kissed Emily’s cheek, and whispered something that made half the crowd laugh. But Emily didn’t laugh. She stiffened, her perfect bridal mask cracking with irritation. Every mishap seemed like a personal insult, as if the universe was conspiring against her.

By the time they were pronounced husband and wife, Emily’s forced smile looked more like a grimace. She clung to Mark’s hand, dragging him down the aisle so fast the guests barely had time to clap. I rolled behind the crowd, trying to give her space, but I caught fragments of whispers:

“Poor Anna. Did you see what her sister said to her earlier?”

“She saved the bride from falling—imagine if she hadn’t been there.”

“Cruel to exclude her from the photos.”

Those words weren’t meant for Emily’s ears, but she heard them. Her jaw clenched tighter each time.

At the reception, things didn’t improve. The vineyard’s generator failed temporarily, cutting power to the fairy lights and music for nearly half an hour. Guests milled about in awkward silence. Without music, Emily’s grand entrance to the ballroom looked underwhelming. The champagne tower toppled before the toast. And when she finally tried to throw the bouquet, it landed squarely in the lap of an older aunt who clearly wanted no part in the tradition.