My breath vanished. The dress was cut clean in half, straight through the bodice, jagged at the bottom where the scissors had slipped. I unzipped the second bag. Cut. The third. Cut. The fourth. Slashed, ruined beyond repair.

I don’t remember dropping to my knees, but I did. I felt the floor under my palms before I registered the sound of someone stepping into the room behind me.

My father.

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look ashamed. He looked satisfied.

“You deserve it,” he said quietly. “You think wearing a uniform makes you better than this family? Makes you better than your sister? Better than Kyle? Better than me?”

My mouth opened, but no words came out. My mother stood behind him, eyes averted. My brother’s silhouette hovered behind her, arms crossed, wearing that smug half-smile he always got when he knew he wasn’t the target.

“Get some sleep,” Dad said. “The wedding’s off.”