The rehearsal dinner was supposed to be a celebration, the kind of warm family gathering people imagine when they think about weddings. The private room glowed with soft golden light reflecting off crystal glasses, and the long table was decorated with white roses that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Everyone was laughing, drinking champagne, and talking about how perfect the wedding weekend was going to be.
My sister Olivia stood up halfway through dinner and tapped her fork against her glass, the sharp cling cutting through the conversation. People turned toward her immediately. She loved attention, and moments like this were her favorite stage.
