My sister wore bridal white to my wedding because she wanted everyone looking at her and HUMILITIATE ME. “Surprise,” she whispered, waiting for me to fall apart. I smiled back. She had no idea I had bought that dress and sent it anonymously to her hotel. Then the pastor stepped forward with a sealed envelope. “Your mother left something for you.” Our mother had died eight months earlier—and left instructions for exactly this moment.

That explanation wasn’t entirely wrong.

But maybe it wasn’t complete.

Paige wiped her cheek and continued.

“She says if I’m wearing white at your wedding, everyone will assume I wanted to steal your day.”

A nervous breath moved through the chapel.

Paige’s voice became quieter.

“She says maybe part of me did.”

Nobody moved.

Then she read the next sentence.

“But she thinks another part of me wanted someone to stop me. Someone to notice how lost I’d become.”

Paige broke.

The letter slipped from her fingers and fell onto the chapel floor as she covered her face. There was nothing graceful or theatrical about the way she cried; it sounded like years of anger had finally collapsed under their own weight.

For a moment, I remained beside Ethan.

I had imagined confronting Paige countless times. In some versions, I finally told her everything she had done to me; in others, she stormed out while everyone watched her humiliation.

I had never imagined feeling sorry for her.

Slowly, I stepped down from the altar.

That was when Paige finally looked at what I was wearing.

My wedding dress wasn’t white.

It was pale blue.