I took a seat at the far end of the table, next to my Aunt Patricia. Patricia was my father’s sister, but she despised him. She was the only one in the family who knew the truth about the condo.
“You look like you’re ready for war,” Patricia whispered, pouring me a glass of wine.
“I am,” I said. “Do you have the envelope?”
She patted her purse. “Safe and sound.”
Throughout dinner, I watched them. I watched Megan laugh, throwing her head back, unaware that her happiness was built on a crime. I watched my parents preen, soaking up the compliments from Daniel’s wealthy parents.
“Your family is so generous,” Mrs. Whitmore said to my mother. “This wedding is spectacular.”
“We believe in sacrifice,” my father said, puffing out his chest. “We’d do anything for our girls.”
I gripped my cane until my knuckles turned white. Sacrifice.
At the end of the night, Megan cornered me near the coat check.
“I’m surprised you showed up,” she sneered. “I thought you’d be too busy sulking about your little apartment.”
“It wasn’t an apartment, Megan. It was a home.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t ruin Saturday. This is my day. If you try anything, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I have a gift for you,” I said. “You’ll see it at the reception.”
“Is it money?” she asked, her eyes lighting up greedily. “Because we’re a little over budget on the honeymoon.”
“It’s worth much more than money,” I said. “It’s the truth.”
Chapter 5: The Wedding Speech
April 12th. The wedding day.
The venue was a garden paradise. White roses cascaded from every archway. A string quartet played softly. Two hundred guests filled the white folding chairs.
I sat in the back row with Aunt Patricia. I watched Megan walk down the aisle in her $22,000 dress. She looked beautiful. She looked like a princess.
I felt nothing.
The ceremony ended. The applause thundered. We moved to the reception tent, a massive structure draped in silk and illuminated by crystal chandeliers.
Dinner was served—filet mignon and lobster tail. The wine flowed.
Then, the speeches began.
My father took the microphone first. He stood on the raised platform, beaming.
“Tonight,” he bellowed, his voice amplified across the silent room, “we celebrate love. We celebrate family. Raising Megan has been the joy of my life. And I want to thank everyone who contributed to making this night possible. Family takes care of family.”
He looked at me then. A challenge in his eyes. He thought I was cowed. He thought I was broken.
“In fact,” he said, improvising, “I think Holly should say a few words. Come on up, sweetheart. Give your sister a toast.”
The room applauded politely. My mother looked terrified, shaking her head at him, but it was too late.
I stood up. I grabbed my cane.
The walk to the stage felt like it took hours. Every click of my cane on the dance floor echoed. I climbed the stairs. My father handed me the microphone, whispering, “Keep it short and sweet.”
I turned to face the crowd. Two hundred strangers. Daniel’s family. My relatives.
I looked at Megan. She was smiling, expectant.
“Thank you, Dad,” I said. My voice was steady. “You’re right. I did contribute to this wedding. Quite a lot, actually.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out the envelope Patricia had given me.
“Six weeks ago,” I began, “I underwent a nine-hour spinal fusion surgery. While I was unconscious on the operating table, my parents made a decision.”
