And honestly, she wasn’t even trying anymore—skipping classes, partying with people twice her age, telling our parents she was “finding herself.” She hung up without saying goodbye. I didn’t think she’d carry that resentment into my wedding. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, as I always did.
She waited until the toast. Right when I stood up to thank everyone for coming, to talk about love, about building a life with someone who brings you peace, Bethany stood too. For a second, I thought she was going to make a toast herself. My glass was still halfway to my mouth.
Then she threw it. The champagne flew in a perfect arc and exploded against the dessert table, shattering a photo frame of me and Emily smiling on a cliffside in Maui. Then she grabbed the wedding cake and shoved it like she was flipping a table. The cake didn’t just fall, it collapsed. Three layers, delicate sugar work, custom flowers, all smeared across the floor. She looked me dead in the eye and screamed it loud enough for people outside the venue to hear:
“This is what you get for acting like you’re better!”