At my sister’s wedding, she mocked me in her speech: “My sister is a single mother, unwanted by anyone. Does anyone want to pick her up?” My mother laughed, “She’s a used product, but still functional! She even comes with a defective son! Haha!” The room filled with laughter. At that moment, the groom slowly stood up. As he began to speak into the mic, the entire room froze….

Chapter 1: The Scent of White Roses and Resentment

My name is Erin Johnson, and the absolute nadir of my existence commenced in a sanctuary suffocating beneath the weight of ten thousand white roses. The air in the cathedral was thick, cloying with floral perfume and the meticulously curated pheromones of several hundred people pretending to possess a shred of human decency.

I stood sequestered in the shadowy periphery of the bridal suite, my fingers nervously pleating the fabric of a cornflower chiffon dress I had procured from a clearance rack a mere forty-eight hours prior. It was an unassuming garment, chosen specifically to render me invisible. Beside me stood my ten-year-old son, Noah, tugging uncomfortably at his starched collar.

He tilted his head back, his dark eyes studying me with a gravity that always made my chest ache. “Mom,” he whispered, his voice barely rising above the chaotic rustle of tulle and frantic makeup artists, “are we really supposed to just smile the entire day?”