I trusted my sister with everything my secrets, my dreams, even my fiancé. Amanda had always looked up to me, or so I thought. But two weeks before my wedding, I found messages from her on Tyler’s phone—flirty, intimate, undeniable. My heart shattered. I ended the engagement that night and thought it couldn’t get worse until she demanded my wedding dress.

Amanda showed up days later, flashing the ring Tyler once gave me, now proudly worn by her.
She asked for my venue, flowers, and my $4,000 custom wedding gown—because I “wasn’t using them anyway.” She called me selfish when I refused, and our mom even backed her up, urging me to be “the bigger person.” So I agreed but on my terms.

The morning of their “big day,” I got dressed in my gown, styled my hair, and arrived at the venue early.
My friends, all dressed as bridesmaids, helped set up the brunch I threw in place of a wedding.
When Amanda and Tyler arrived late, they were stunned to find me sitting at the head table, champagne in hand. There was no room for their guests just mine, enjoying the day I paid for.

Amanda stormed out, dragging Tyler behind her, humiliated in front of everyone. I toasted to closure, feeling freer than I had in months. The breeze lifted the hem of my gown the one no one else would ever wear. And for once, I smiled, knowing I had the final say in my own story.