I dreamed of attending my siblings’ weddings, not for the fairytale, but to be part of their happiness. Yet, they always excluded me. Oak, my oldest brother, married when I was ten, but I was too young. At twelve, I was excluded again. I begged Ivy, my sister, at fifteen, but she refused, claiming it wasn’t fair. By seventeen, I stopped caring. Even when my step-cousin, just eighteen, was invited, I wasn’t.
When I started planning my wedding, I decided not to invite any of them. They hadn’t included me, so I didn’t want them at my big day. My boyfriend Rowan supported me, but warned that I might regret not having my mother there. Still, I didn’t care. When my family found out, they demanded answers. I told them it was simple: they never wanted me there, so I didn’t want them at mine.
They argued, saying they were protecting me or that it wasn’t personal. But it was personal to me. Then, my brother Ezra revealed something I didn’t know: I wasn’t actually their sister, I was their cousin. I was raised by their uncle until he passed, and they never told me. I had always fought to belong, but I never was family.
In the end, I decided not to have the wedding I thought I wanted. Rowan and I realized we didn’t need a big celebration to be happy. We chose to elope, and at the courthouse, just the two of us, I finally felt truly loved.
No fake apologies, no forced smiles—just Rowan, who had always seen me, and I felt like I made the right choice.
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