The day of my wedding, my sister decided to fly home. Just like that. And just like that, my parents, my brother, and my fiancé all abandoned me—left me standing alone in my wedding dress—to go pick her up from the airport. While my sister, Luna, posted a beaming group photo to her Instagram story, bragging about how loved she was, my frantic calls went straight to voicemail, each one a silent scream into the void. The only person who answered was Caleb, my fiancé. He had one thing to say before hanging up: “Stop making a scene. We can always have another wedding.” They turned me into a clown at my own long-awaited ceremony, a spectacle of pity and ridicule for every guest to whisper about. I handled everything that followed with a calm I didn't know I possessed. Then, I went home, opened my journal, and wrote down a new number: 99. It was the ninety-ninth time they had broken my heart. It would also be the last time I ever asked for their love. I’d already filled out my application for the research program abroad and packed my bags. They thought I’d finally learned to be quiet and obedient. They had no idea I was just getting ready to leave. … The door to my room was thrown open without a knock. My brother, Leo, strode in. He saw me staring blankly at my journal and let out a scoff. “Aren’t you a little old for that? Still writing in a diary like a schoolgirl?” Normally, I would’ve shot back a sarcastic reply. This time, I didn’t even look up. My silence seemed to irritate him. Leo ran a hand through his hair in frustration, then snatched the journal from my desk. He glanced at the open page. All it said was a single number: 99. The tally of their disappointments over the years. He couldn’t make sense of it. Frowning, he tossed the journal onto the floor. “Forget this nonsense. Luna’s craving your garlic butter shrimp scampi. Get downstairs and make it for her.” He added, “Consider it your apology for that snide little comment you left on her post today.” “Okay,” I said, my voice flat. I rose from my chair and headed for the door. Leo was clearly taken aback by my lack of protest. In the past, whenever they’d demanded I cook for Luna, I’d always put up a fight, crying as if I’d suffered the world’s greatest injustice. Why was I so quiet now? “What’s with you, Stella? Did you have a personality transplant? Or are you planning to put something in the food?” He eyed me suspiciously, trying to read the devious plot he imagined was brewing behind my eyes. His gaze fell to my slightly reddened, puffy eyelids. For a moment, he actually shut his mouth. After a long pause, he tried again, his voice softer. “Look, Luna’s been abroad for a whole year. It’s the first time she’s been back. We were just excited to see her. You should try to understand.” “It was just a wedding,” he added, as if that explained everything. “We can always throw another one for you later, can’t we?” I said nothing, pulling the shrimp from the refrigerator and beginning to rinse them under the cold tap. Just a wedding. Yes, of course. In their world, nothing could ever be more important than welcoming Luna home. Not even the wedding I had dreamed of for so long. The gown, a gorgeous couture piece, was one I’d saved for months to rent. The venue, the flowers, the music—I had spent over half a year meticulously planning every single detail with the wedding coordinator. They had seen it all. They’d watched my excitement build, day by day. And in the end, the people closest to me, my own family, were the ones who made me a laughingstock. The bride whose family was a no-show. The bride whose groom never appeared. While Luna was flaunting her airport welcome wagon on social media, I was facing a room full of mocking stares and pitying glances, cleaning up the mess of my shattered dream all by myself. Even the hotel staff, seeing my pale, tear-streaked face, had told me to go home and rest, their eyes full of sympathy. But the first thing my family did when they got home was to order me into the kitchen. A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. I’d been planning to turn down my mentor’s offer for the prestigious research program abroad. With my parents getting older, Leo busy with his career, and my own wedding, it had seemed like the right thing to do. Now, I knew leaving was the only right decision. It was a shame the application took time to process. I still had two more weeks to endure. I pushed past Leo. “Excuse me. You’re in my way.” My coldness was like a punch landing on a pillow. He looked helpless. Just as he was about to say something else, the little princess in the living room called out to him. “Leo! I can’t get this chestnut open!” Instantly, his focus shifted. “Don’t even try, Luna! You’ll hurt your hands,” he called back, rushing to her side. “You’re going to be a concert pianist! Let me do it for you!” The buzzing fly had finally left the kitchen. I glanced down at my own hands. The fingers, once slender, were now red and swollen from an allergic reaction to the shellfish I was handling. After placing the platter of shrimp on the dining table, I took in the scene in the living room. The atmosphere was disgustingly cheerful. My father, a man perpetually “too busy” with his business, was now sitting attentively, listening to his youngest daughter’s tales of her adventures abroad. My mother held Luna in a tight embrace, her eyes filled with concern, cooing about how much weight she’d lost, how hard it must have been for her all alone out there. And Leo sat beside them, diligently peeling chestnuts for his darling sister. I stood there, a silent observer of this picture-perfect family moment. The dining room and the living room felt like two separate worlds, a stark line drawn between them. One thrummed with warmth and laughter; the other was steeped in cold, lonely silence. “Stella, why are you just hiding over there?” Luna’s voice, sickly sweet and laced with faux innocence, cut through the air. The three of them finally turned their attention to me. My father’s brow furrowed instinctively. “Who are you trying to scare with that long face? Get over here!” My mother’s face hardened with impatience. “This whole wedding fiasco is your own fault for picking a bad date. It has nothing to do with Luna.” Then, the ultimatum. “If you dare hold a grudge against your sister, don’t you ever call me ‘Mom’ again!” Luna pouted, leaning into Mom’s shoulder. “Oh, Mommy, don’t say that. You’ll make Stella sad.” But as she spoke, a gleam of triumph in her eyes betrayed her. I knew she was far from innocent. I had texted her the wedding date a full week in advance. She’d seen the message. She’d even replied, promising me a “surprise.” And what a surprise it was. This was her favorite game, a little drama she’d been directing since we were children: forcing our family to choose. I was never the one they chose. Not my parents. Not my brother. And now, not even the man who was supposed to spend the rest of his life with me. I should have been devastated. But maybe I was just numb. Hearing their words now, I felt nothing but a quiet emptiness. “I’m not angry.” The three words hung in the air. Every one of them stared at me, shocked. Not angry? How could that be possible? I watched their expressions, a deep, cutting irony settling in my chest. See? They knew what they did was wrong. They knew it was hurtful. Yet they did it anyway, and then had the audacity to blame me for my own pain. My sudden calm was more unsettling to them than any of my past hysterics. After a moment of tense silence, my father spoke. “Good. As long as you’re not angry. We’re family. Don’t be so petty.” “Yes, I know.” I nodded obediently. Seeing that I genuinely didn’t seem to be holding it against them, they visibly relaxed and drew Luna towards the dinner table. Besides the shrimp I’d made, the table was laden with a feast of seafood prepared by our housekeeper—all of Luna’s favorites. “You’re too thin, sweetie. You need to eat up,” Mom and Dad fussed, their chopsticks relentlessly piling food onto Luna’s plate until it was a small mountain. She just smiled, basking in the attention, and continued to boast about her studies abroad. She claimed she’d already secured a spot in a prestigious orchestra and would be performing soon. Mom, Dad, and Leo hung on her every word, showering her with praise. I just quietly ate my rice. My silence must have finally pricked at my mother’s conscience. She seemed to remember the grievance I’d suffered. A single shrimp was dropped into my bowl. I looked up. Her expression was awkward, forced. “There, eat. Don’t always think we favor Luna. See? I saved one for you.” I stared at the shrimp for a long moment, then set down my bowl. “No, thank you. I’m full.” Her face fell, a flash of anger in her eyes. “What is wrong with you, child?” Before she could continue her scolding, Luna, sitting beside her, suddenly clutched her throat, her face paling. “Mom… I… I can’t breathe!” In an instant, my parents and Leo were swarming around her. They saw the red welts breaking out on her skin and panic set in. “It’s an allergic reaction! How could this happen?” My mother’s frantic gaze swept the room and landed on me. The next second, a sharp crack echoed through the room as her hand connected with my cheek. The force sent me stumbling, and I fell to the floor, my head ringing. “Stella, what did you put in the food? Don’t you remember what your sister is allergic to?” Leo stared down at me, his face a mask of disgust. “I knew you were too quiet. You were plotting to hurt Luna all along! How could I have a sister as venomous as you?” “Enough! Stop yelling! Let’s get Luna to the hospital, now!” my father roared. Only then did my mother and brother tear their hateful glares away from me. The family rushed out, leaving me alone on the cold floor, one hand pressed to my throbbing, swollen cheek. I didn’t do it. The words were stuck in my throat. I wanted to scream them. But this scene had played out too many times before. I knew, with absolute certainty, that even if I said it, they wouldn’t believe me. So be it. The housekeeper, hearing the commotion, hurried in and tried to help me up. She gasped when she saw my hands. “Miss Stella, your hands! They’re so swollen!” “I’m fine,” I said, shrugging off her kindness. I pushed myself to my feet and walked back upstairs to my room. As I picked up the journal from the floor, a flood of memories washed over me. When I was eight, our family didn’t have much money. All five of us were crammed into a tiny, rundown house. My parents worked tirelessly, and with three kids to look after, they were stretched to their breaking point. They decided to send one of us to live with our grandparents in the country. Leo was about to start high school, a crucial time. Luna was too young and frail; they couldn't bear to part with her. I didn’t want to see my parents so worried, so I raised my hand. I volunteered. Before I left, my mother stroked my hair and called me her most sensible, understanding child. What no one told me was that the price of being “sensible” was eight years of exile. For eight years, I only saw my parents, my brother, and my sister at Christmas. Year after year, I watched them in photographs, their clothes growing finer, their smiles wider. I knew our family’s fortune had changed. I waited and waited for them to bring me home. I waited until I went from a little girl to a teenager, until my beloved grandparents had both passed away. Only then did the car finally come for me. The tiny, shabby house of my memory was gone, replaced by a three-story villa. The room they gave me was on the first floor, tucked away in the darkest corner. It had none of the books and gaming consoles that filled Leo’s room, nor any of the whimsical, fairy-tale decorations in Luna’s. It was a perfect reflection of my place in this family: an afterthought, easily ignored. I packed the few belongings I had into my suitcase. The leave of absence I’d arranged with my mentor for the wedding was no longer needed. I was about to call him to say I’d be back in the lab tomorrow when my phone rang. It was Caleb. My fiancé. I assumed he was calling to discuss the wedding fallout. I was wrong. The moment I answered, he unleashed a torrent of accusations. “Stella, what did you do to Luna? Why is she in the hospital?” The man I knew as calm and collected had now lost his composure twice in one day. The first time was when he heard Luna was coming home. The second was now. And the most bitter irony of all was that he was supposed to be my fiancé.
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