As one of Boston’s premier luxury real estate agents, my mother viewed my wedding not as a celebration of love, but as a portfolio piece—a testament to her own enduring relevance in high society. My silence had been her cue to bulldoze.

“Mom, we haven’t decided anything,” I had tried to interject, my grip tightening on the phone. “I need to talk to Jason.”

“What is there to discuss? Catherine raves about it. It’s perfect.”

Catherine. My younger sister, the fashion influencer whose life was curated in 1080p for hundreds of thousands of followers. To them, a wedding wasn’t a union; it was content.

The doorbell shattered my reverie. I shook off the anxiety, smoothing my robe as I went to answer it. Standing there was Jason Carter, the man who made the noise of the world fade away. He wasn’t wearing his firefighter’s uniform, but a simple flannel shirt that accentuated his sturdy build. His eyes, usually crinkling with humor, held a shadow of concern.