Growing up, my sister Melissa was always the favorite. She got the bigger birthday parties, the special trips, and even when she caused trouble, my parents defended her. I was used to being second place. So when my fiancé Ryan and I began planning our wedding, I wasn’t shocked when my parents made a startling request: Melissa should walk down the aisle in her own white gown, almost as if it were her wedding too.
I was stunned, but Ryan squeezed my hand and whispered, “Let them think they’ve won.” We agreed to their terms, accepted their financial help, and quietly made our own plan. On the big day, Melissa showed up late, dressed head-to-toe in an elaborate white gown, clearly ready to steal the spotlight.
But when she tried to enter, security politely turned her away—her name wasn’t on the guest list. My parents argued outside while the music began inside. And there I was, walking down the aisle, finally the center of the day that was meant for me. As Ryan and I exchanged vows, Melissa fumed in the parking lot.
At the reception, we toasted with the champagne she had insisted on, cut into the lavish cake my parents had paid for, and celebrated without interruption. In the end, our wedding was everything we dreamed it would be: joyful, peaceful, and ours alone. For once, the spotlight wasn’t on Melissa—it was exactly where it belonged.