An awkward pause.
Everyone knew Madison’s job wasn’t demanding in the slightest.
Dad jumped in. “Madison has always been so good at balancing everything. Career, relationships, family. She’s remarkable—unlike some people who just hide away in school forever.”
Madison looked directly at me, smiling sweetly.
The table went quiet.
“Madison,” Brandon said softly, a warning in his tone.
“What?” Madison’s voice was innocent. “I’m just saying, Rosalind. When do you think you’ll finally graduate? You’ve been in school for what—five years now?”
“Four years is standard for a bachelor’s degree,” I said calmly. “Some people finish in three and a half, right?”
“But you’re still there, aren’t you?” Madison pressed. “Still taking classes?”
I smiled blandly. “Something like that.”
“Must be hard being so far behind in life,” she continued. “I mean, I already have my career, my house, and now my marriage. What do you have?”
Brandon looked mortified. Linda and George exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Mom and Dad said nothing.
They never did when Madison took shots at me.
“I have peace of mind,” I said quietly.
Madison laughed. “That’s what people say when they have nothing else.”
I took a sip of water and let it go.
Tomorrow.
I just had to make it until tomorrow.
The rest of dinner continued in the same vein. Every topic circled back to Madison—her dress, her flowers, her honeymoon plans, her future, her dreams.
When Linda asked me about my studies, trying to be polite, Dad interrupted to talk about how Madison had graduated with honors.
She hadn’t.
She’d graduated with a 2.8 GPA.
After dinner, I helped Mom clear plates while everyone else moved to the living room.
Madison, of course, didn’t help. She never had.
In the kitchen, I scraped plates and loaded the dishwasher while Mom wrapped leftovers. We worked in silence for a few minutes.
“You know your sister needs support right now,” Mom finally said.
“This is a stressful time for her,” she added, like she was describing a medical condition.
“Getting married to a man who clearly loves her, and having an $80,000 wedding funded largely by you and Dad is stressful?” I asked.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Rosalind. It doesn’t suit you.”
“What would suit me, Mom?”
She didn’t answer.
I heard voices from the living room and paused, listening.
Dad and Madison were talking, their voices low but audible from the kitchen.
“She’ll do it,” Madison was saying. “She always does what she’s told.”
“Are you sure?” Dad asked.
“She seemed reluctant on the phone.”
“Positive.” Madison laughed softly. “She’s desperate for approval. For you to finally notice her. She’ll give us the money for the honeymoon fund if we frame it right—make it seem like it’s her chance to finally contribute something meaningful to this family.”
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