More phones came up, turning to capture Olivia’s feigned, tearful surprise. They all assumed I was in on it; that I, the quiet older sister, had given my masterpiece away.

I looked at my father, beaming as he accepted applause for his magnificent, impossible lie. I looked at Olivia, already crying beautiful, photogenic tears for a prize she had not earned.

Something inside me, a piece of wiring that had been frayed for decades, finally snapped.

I pushed off the wall. I simply began to walk. My low, practical heels clicked on the stone floor. Click, click, click.

The sound was sharp, cutting through the applause. The crowd parted. The applause died as faces turned, registering the confusion. This was not in the program.

I stopped a few feet from the bridal table, directly in front of my father. His smile was still fixed, but his eyes up close were cold, swimming with bourbon.