My sister has always been the favorite of my parents, but I never thought they would insist that she wear a white dress and walk down the aisle first at my wedding. My fiancé and I had a plan, but we agreed and grinned. The trap was in place. What about the fallout? In all the right ways, brutal, gratifying, and poetic.
My parents made it very evident that I was the backup plan as early as I can remember. The golden kid, my older sister Julia, was a gleaming trophy that they flaunted. And me? The background noise was me. Rarely acknowledged, yet always present.
Over time, it got hilariously harsh. Each and every birthday? Hers. even when I had it. Mom would ask Julia to recommend a dessert for me. And it would be unfortunate if I were to admit that I disliked chocolate frosting. We purchased it because Julia wanted it.
Family vacations? The same tale. Hiking in the forest or on the beach? Consult Julia. Tacos or pizza? Let Julia make the final decision. With all the input they gave me, I might as well have been a ghost.
The pattern was established by the time I was thirteen. Julia was flawless. Every move she made was greeted with cheers. However, I was reprimanded for breathing too loudly.
However, I discovered how to live in her shadow. They would leave me alone if I was sufficiently submissive, silent, and unnoticeable. That tranquility was sufficient at times.
Then came high school, which coincided with Julia’s abrupt decline in social standing.
Almost overnight, she was betrayed by the same popular crowd that had formerly followed her everywhere like puppies. She came for my approval after losing theirs.
One evening, as I was wrapping up an article in the dining room, she told Mom, “Emily stole money from my purse.”
“I didn’t!” With my heart racing, I yelled.
Mom barged in. “Julia would never tell lies. Apologize and return the money.
“I took nothing at all!” I begged.
Dad got involved. Why do you have to argue all the time? Why are you unable to emulate your sister more?
Julia grinned behind their backs.
The ease with which the accusations circulated, both at home and at school, was worse than the charges themselves. Julia told others that I stole from lockers, cheated on exams, and spread rumors about professors. Truth didn’t matter, even though none of it was true. I was portrayed as difficulty by her lies. As my parents prohibited me from seeing anyone Julia didn’t like, my friendships gradually fell apart.
Mom said one afternoon, “You don’t have to spend any more time with Claire.”
“What? Why?
“She’s a bad influence,” Julia claims.
I was by myself for the majority of my adolescence. However, I resisted letting their treatment define who I was.
I worked instead. I did some studying. I planned my getaway.
I had a plan by my senior year. And I sobbed for ten minutes straight in the restroom after receiving a full scholarship to an out-of-state university. It was out of sheer, overwhelming relief, not sadness.
At last, I was leaving.
After years of gloomy sky, attending college seemed like entering the sun. I was able to breathe. I might be able to make pals. Through psychology lessons, I started to understand myself and found my love for writing.
Then I got to know Daniel.
He sat down to talk when he saw me reading by myself in the library. We conversed till the building shut down. After that, we had coffee and spoke. After that, dinner. And for some reason, two years later, he proposed to me in our small apartment.
Without hesitation, and for the first time without considering my parents’ reaction, I answered yes.
I organized a small wedding with Daniel. Nothing extravagant, just a few dozen friends and family members with basic décor. We wanted to save more for our honeymoon, so we paid for it ourselves.
Then the phone rang.
Mom said, “We would like to assist with the wedding.” “We should do something for you now.”
Just those statements ought to have sparked a thousand warning signs. My folks? Do you want to assist me? But deep down, I felt hope stirring in that helpless child.
Daniel and I then took a car to their home to have a conversation. He was already familiar with the dynamics of my family; he had witnessed the tears and heard the stories. Both of us anticipated difficulty.
However, we were unprepared for their next statement.
With pride, Dad declared, “We have written a check to cover the entire wedding.” “However, we have one requirement.”
I ought to have fled at that moment.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate for Julia’s younger sister to get married first,” Mom stated.
“Julia will go down the aisle first,” Dad went on. She was wearing her own dress, her own bouquet, and her own pictures. It was also her moment.
There was silence in the room.
I was physically sick. I felt like screaming. Daniel then leaned in my direction and squeezed my hand.
“Leave it to them,” he said. “Believe me.”
And I did.
As Daniel thanked them and put the cheque in his pocket, I silently nodded. When Julia strode into the room to start organizing her “portion” of the day and Daniel grinned courteously at her recommendations, I remained silent.
As we departed, he remarked, “We’ll need to finalize everything next week.” “We simply want to give it some thought.”
Daniel started laughing as soon as we reached the end of the driveway.
“What is so humorous?” Still trembling, I asked.
He smiled, “Oh, they just gave us the setup for the ideal retaliation.” They believe they are taking over our wedding. However, we are going to change the course of events.
During the trip home, he explained his plan, and by the time it was over, I was laughing too, cackling like a villain in a movie. I felt like I had the advantage for once.
Daniel maintained regular communication with my parents during the ensuing months. His portrayal of the somewhat cowardly fiancé who merely want peace was flawless.
He concurred that I was challenging. When Julia said I wanted something inexpensive, he allowed her to create lavish floral arrangements and “correct” my taste. He said in a whisper that I had picked daisies for my bouquet and that, in order to keep things elegant, Julia should insist that I have roses.
I grinned, let her “win,” and listened to her yell about it through the door.
Plans exploded as the wedding day drew closer. Thanks to my parents’ checkbook, Julia essentially recreated the entire event because she thought it was all about her.
Daniel then approached me a week prior to the wedding.
He remarked, “We need one last thing.” “Private security.”
I gave a nod. “I’ll make some calls.”
And get in touch with my cousin. He’s a filmmaker. All of this should be documented.
When the wedding day finally came, it was everything I had dreamed of. The sun was shining, our pals were radiant, and the location was ideal.
Then Julia showed up in a beautiful gown that looked like it belonged on a red carpet, although fashionably late. She approached the arena with an arrogant, “today is my day” expression.
A security officer moved ahead of her.
“Name?” he inquired, holding a clipboard.
“Julia.” Her hair was inverted. “I am the sister of the bride. I’m going to walk first.
The guard looked over the list. I apologize. The list of authorized guests does not include you.
Her face broke. “That isn’t feasible. I’m meant to be the first to walk down the aisle!
Calmly, he continued, “We were told not to let anyone in after the bride arrives.”
Daniel’s father and I were waiting for our cue inside. Daniel’s cousin caught all that was going on at the entryway, but I was unaware of it.
The video shows Julia blowing up. screamed. sobbed. Smeared mascara. Threatening to sue everyone in sight, she threw a sneaker at the security guy.
Demanding that she be allowed inside, my father rushed forward. Then the music began.
“All set?” Daniel’s dad inquired.
I nodded, threatening to cry, but not out of grief, but out of relief. This was actually taking place. I was getting married. according to my terms.
Visitors stood. The camera shutters sounded. With my heart pounding, I made my way down the aisle and saw Daniel at the altar, beaming as if he had won the lottery.
Julia was still having a fit outside. She once sobbed as she fell to the earth. When we left the chapel, she and my dad were still outside.
Daniel was accosted by Dad at the automobile.
“We struck a bargain!” he yelled.
“You honestly believed that I would allow someone else to walk before my bride?” Daniel said calmly. “Come on. Avoid being naive.
“You misled us!”
“You never have a written copy of it. There must have been a miscommunication. We have a reception to enjoy, so please pardon us.
We drove away when he grasped my hand.
We raised a glass of the champagne Julia had insisted on ordering throughout the reception. My parents bought the cake, and we cut it. We danced as though the day was ours, and it really was.
Daniel thanked my parents on social media the next day for “their generous support in making our day unforgettable.” The video his cousin had filmed, but no reference to the drama? It circulated quickly. By the end of the week, everyone in our town and extended family had seen it.
Without someone speaking about the meltdown, Julia was unable to display her face in public.
She texted me a week later when we were preparing for our honeymoon in Bali:
“He deceived us! This is something you’ll regret! He will be unfaithful to you — WITH ME!
Daniel didn’t even blink. After taking a screenshot of the message, he posted it on the family group chat.
After that, we switched off our phones, retrieved our passports, and headed out.
I didn’t grow up in a dreamlike environment. However, I married a man who supported me and truly saw me, and we changed the course of my life.
And it was flawless.