I stared at my phone at the abrupt end to our conversation and felt something familiar settle in my chest. It wasn’t quite sadness, wasn’t quite anger. It was the dull ache of being perpetually secondary.

The weeks leading up to the wedding passed in a blur of work and preparation. I bought a new dress, a soft blue that complimented my complexion without being too attention-grabbing. I arranged time off from the bakery, much to my boss’s dismay since June was our busiest season.

I should have known something was wrong when Victoria didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid. She had five bridesmaids, I learned from her social media posts. College friends, work friends, even our cousin Jessica, who she’d barely spoken to in years.

But not me.

“The wedding party is already set,” she explained when I finally worked up the courage to ask. “You understand, right? These are people I see regularly.”