At my sister’s wedding, she insulted me during her toast: «My sister, a single mom, undesired by all.» The crowd chuckled. My mom chimed in, «A worn-out item!» Then the groom, Daniel, rose and seized the mic. The room went silent…

I never thought humiliation could come wrapped in silk and champagne. There I was, sitting in the third row at my younger sister’s wedding, wearing the only formal dress I owned, trying my best to blend into a room full of people who all seemed too polished, too perfect. My son, Luca, sat beside me, swinging his legs under the table, wearing a little suit I had to stretch two paychecks for.

He looked so proud to be there. He thought this day would make us feel like part of the family again. Maybe I hoped that too.

Vivienne, my sister, floated through the day like a movie star. She always had that energy. Beautiful.

Charming. Adored by everyone, especially our mother. She got the compliments.

I got the comparisons. She got the spotlight. I learned how to live in the shadows.

Still, I showed up. I smiled. I clapped when they kissed.

I kept my voice steady when people asked, And you’re the older sister? You don’t look like you have an eight-year-old. Then came the speeches. The groom’s best friend went first.

Some mildly funny anecdotes. Light laughter. Then it was Vivienne’s turn.

I expected something sentimental. Something about love. Maybe something about growing up together.

I even raised my glass in anticipation. I should have known better. She lifted her crystal flute and smiled out over the room.

I want to thank everyone for coming, she began glowing. It means the world to have you here. And of course, I want to say something special about my big sister, Alara.

I turned to Luca and smiled at him. He looked up at me with excitement. For a moment, I believed she was about to say something kind.

Vivienne went on. Alara’s been such a role model. She’s a single mom, strong, independent, and clearly unwanted by anyone else.

The room erupted into laughter. My stomach flipped. I thought I misheard her.

But she kept smiling like it was the most charming joke she’d ever told. Some guests looked confused, but most laughed harder, clinking their glasses like it was all in good fun. I didn’t know where to look.

My heart pounded in my ears. Luca tugged at my sleeve and whispered, why did she say that about you, mama? Before I could answer, my mother added loudly from her table, not missing a beat. She’s a used product, but hey, she still looks good for her age.

More laughter, sharper this time. It was the kind of laughter that cuts through skin, the kind that lets you know everyone sees you differently now, not as a guest, not as family, as entertainment, as pity, as shame. I couldn’t move…