I slowly looked across the vineyard reception hall.
My sister Elise stood beneath the warm lights beside her new husband, Carson.
She had a proper seat.
My parents had proper seats.
Every aunt, uncle, cousin, and family friend had been carefully placed where they belonged.
And I had table 19.
That familiar heat crept up the back of my neck.
I knew that feeling.
I had known it since childhood.
Elise had always been the favorite.
The golden child.
Whenever she made a mistake, Mom and Dad found an excuse.
Whenever I achieved something, they somehow found a way to make it sound insignificant.
When I earned a college scholarship, Mom said,
"At my sister’s wedding, my father leaned close enough that only I could hear him. “Try not to ruin this the way you ruin everything else.”
