up, fell in love, and dreamed about her wedding.
She had a small scar near her shoulder, but most people never noticed it unless she pointed it out.
For years, I believed the experience had made us closer.
When Emily was sixteen, she once climbed into my bed after a nightmare and held my hand until morning.
At eighteen, she hugged me before leaving for college and told me I was the bravest person she knew.
I treasured those moments.
I never understood how quickly they could disappear beneath her growing obsession with appearances.
As Emily entered adulthood, she began asking me to stand farther away in family photographs.
She suggested that I wear higher collars to cover my neck.
Before parties, she would quietly ask whether I could avoid drawing attention to my face.
At first, I made excuses for her.
She was young, I told myself.
She cared too much about what other people thought.
Perhaps she would grow out of it.
Our parents made excuses, too.
Linda, our mother, would tell me that Emily was under pressure.
Mark, our father, would change the subject whenever an argument threatened to begin.
‘You know how sensitive your sister is,’ Mom would say.
I knew something else.
I knew how she had sounded when the flames trapped her upstairs.
I knew how tightly she had clung to me.
I knew I would make the same decision again, no matter what it cost.
I had saved her because she was my sister.
I had never asked her to repay me.
I had only hoped she would never be ashamed of me.
Then came her wedding day.
Emily had spent nearly a year planning every detail.
The flowers were imported.
The invitations were embossed.
The reception venue overlooked Charleston Harbor, and the photographer had been instructed to capture every moment as if the entire day belonged in a luxury magazine.
I wanted her to be happy.
I bought a navy dress that made me feel elegant.
I chose ivory gloves to protect my sensitive skin.
I arranged accessible transportation and confirmed that the church entrance could accommodate my wheelchair.
I even practiced smiling in the mirror, reminding myself that I would not let my nerves spoil her day.
When I arrived, the church was already filled with guests.
Sunlight poured through the stained glass, scattering colored shapes across the aisle.
White roses decorated the pews, and a string quartet played softly near the altar.
I chose a seat at the end of the second row.
I wanted to be close enough to see my sister’s face when she said her vows.
For a few minutes, everything felt peaceful.
Then Emily came down the aisle to check the photographs before the ceremony began.
She looked magnificent.
Her veil fell over her shoulders, and her diamond earrings caught the light whenever she turned her head.
She smiled at the photographer.
Then she saw me.
Her expression barely changed, but I recognized the tightening around her mouth.
I had seen it before, usually when someone stared at my scars too long.
She approached, bent down, and pretended to kiss my cheek for the camera.
‘Go sit in the back,’ she whispered.
I blinked, certain I had misunderstood.
‘What?’
‘You’re ruining the atmosphere and the perfect
