The morning before my sister’s wedding, I woke up to find my hair gone. My mother had crept into my room at nigh…

That night, I made a decision. I would show up to the wedding, but not as they expected. I would not wear the dress they sneered at.

I would not speak the words they gave me for Hannah’s toast. I would take their script and shred it. And that would be just the beginning.

I didn’t sleep that night. Not really. Becca helped even out my hacked hair into a sleek, edgy bob.

You look like someone who’s about to expose a family, she whispered as she styled the last strand. By morning, I had a plan. I arrived at the wedding venue early before the chaos kicked in.

A sprawling vineyard estate. Of course, they picked something photogenic. Hannah’s dream wedding was bought with my parents’ savings, my mother’s fake smiles, and my father’s unshakeable pride in the real daughter.

I was just a side character, but not today. I’d rehearsed the speech I was supposed to give, some hallmark nonsense about sisterhood and forever bonds. Instead, I walked up to the microphone at the rehearsal brunch when the mood was warm and smug, and I said, hi, everyone.

I know I’m not the favorite daughter. That’s never been a secret, but I’m here to say something different today. You could feel the air shift.

My mother’s smile twitched. I want to talk about what happens behind the family portraits. When people say they love you, but cut you, literally, to keep you from outshining someone else.

When they drug you with tea so you sleep through the sabotage. When parents treat your existence as a threat to the child they actually love. Gasps.

One uncle dropped his fork. My dad stood up. Enough…