My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

Clare nodded, tears spilling. “I did. And I hate myself for it. I thought if everything looked perfect, I’d finally feel perfect. And then today happened and I realized… I’ve been chasing an image like it’s oxygen.”

I looked at my little sister—still in her wedding dress, still shaking, still trying to undo a choice she’d made out of fear.

“You’re not a bad person,” I said. “But you made a bad decision. There’s a difference.”

“I want to fix it,” she whispered. “I want us to be… real.”

I exhaled. “Then start by seeing me. Not as a problem. Not as someone you have to hide. Just… me.”

Clare nodded frantically. “I do see you,” she said. “Now. God, Soph, I didn’t know. About your job, about your life… about Daniel. I didn’t know anything.”

“You didn’t ask,” I said, repeating the sentence that had become the theme of the weekend.

Her face crumpled. “I’m asking now,” she whispered. “Will you tell me?”

I studied her for a moment. Forgiveness wasn’t a switch. It was a process, and I didn’t want to hand it over too easily, not because I wanted revenge, but because I wanted change to be real.