Picture this: You are seven days away from what is supposed to be the happiest day of your life. Two hundred guests, a venue overlooking the ocean, the man you adore waiting at the altar. But as you walk past your parents’ bedroom door, carrying a tray of tea you made to be a “good daughter,” you hear voices that make your blood turn to ice in your veins.
“She’ll be standing up there like the pathetic failure she’s always been,” my mother hissed. “Two hundred people will finally see what we’ve always known.”
My sister Sophie’s laugh followed, a sound of pure, distilled venom. “I’ve already rigged her precious dress. One little pull during her speech, and the seams will give way. She’ll be standing there in her spanx while everyone watches. It’s going to be viral gold.”
They were planning to destroy me. On my wedding day. In front of everyone I cared about
