Guests were starting to arrive, dressed in their finest. I recognized faces from my childhood—neighbors, family friends, distant relatives I hadn’t seen in years.
Several did double takes when they saw me.
“Rosalind!” Aunt Helen approached, eyes wide. “Sweetie, is that you? Oh my goodness—look at you. You look absolutely stunning.”
I hugged her, feeling genuine warmth for the first time since arriving in Spokane.
Aunt Helen was Dad’s older sister, and she’d always been kind to me. She was one of the few people who seemed to notice how differently my parents treated their daughters.
“Thank you, Aunt Helen.”
“Seriously, honey,” she said, holding me at arm’s length to study me. “You look like a million bucks. Life must be treating you well.”
“Something like that,” I said with a small smile.
Uncle Thomas joined us, along with my cousins Jaime and Alex. They echoed Aunt Helen’s surprise and compliments. It felt good being seen—recognized as someone beyond the struggling student my parents had painted me as.
“Where are you sitting?” Jaime asked. “Are you in the family section?”
“I’m in row three,” I said. “Table eight at the reception.”
Aunt Helen’s mouth tightened.
“Row three? Not even row two with the rest of the family?”
“It’s fine,” I assured her for what felt like the thousandth time.
“It’s not fine,” she muttered. “It’s never been fine.”
The ceremony began at two.
I sat in my assigned seat between distant cousins I barely knew, watching as the processional started.
Madison’s bridesmaids walked down the aisle in expensive dresses, smiling and posing.
Then came Madison herself on Dad’s arm, looking—annoyingly—beautiful in her elaborate gown.
Brandon stood at the altar, smiling nervously. He seemed like a decent guy.
I hoped he knew what he was getting into.
The ceremony was traditional, classic, tasteful. The officiant talked about love and commitment and partnership.
I wondered if Madison was capable of any of those things, or if this was just another performance—another event to post.
When they exchanged vows, I felt oddly detached.
This wasn’t my life.
These weren’t my people.
Not really.
I was an observer in my own family, watching from the outside, looking in.
After the ceremony, guests moved to cocktail hour in the garden while photos were taken.
I got a glass of wine and mingled, making small talk with relatives I hadn’t seen in years. Everyone commented on how good I looked, how grown up I seemed. Some asked about school.
I deflected vaguely, hinting that I was nearly done, that things were going well.
That’s when Brandon found me.
He approached while I was standing alone near the edge of the garden, looking out at the golf course beyond.
“Rosalind, can we talk for a minute?”
I turned, surprised. “Sure. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks.” He looked uncomfortable, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Listen, I need to ask you something, and I hope you won’t take offense.”
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