As I stood in the quiet of my office, my thoughts swirled around in an endless loop. How could Claire have done that? It wasn’t just the betrayal, or the insult of being excluded from the wedding. It was the casual way she dismissed my efforts, as if all the hours I spent planning, working, sacrificing for her and Liam meant nothing.

I could still hear her voice, cold and detached, as she’d dismissed me like I was nothing more than an assistant to her "perfect" day. The sharpness in her tone when she told Liam it was "just a favor" I’d done—like I was some kind of errand girl who owed them something.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was Liam. He had been so wrapped up in Claire’s glow, so eager to please her, that he hadn’t seen the cruelty until it was too late. He hadn't seen what Claire was capable of, what I had known all along. I had warned him, tried to tell him, but he was blinded by love—or whatever it was that he thought he felt.

And I? I had let him. For months, I had kept my mouth shut, played the supportive sister, because it was his happiness that mattered most. I convinced myself I could set aside my discomfort with Claire if it meant Liam was happy. But now, as I sat there, holding the cake in my hands like some kind of sad consolation prize, I realized how foolish I had been. How blindly I had loved my brother—how much of myself I had lost just to keep him happy.

I stared at the cake again. The chocolate-peanut butter layers stared back at me, sweet and familiar, yet there was nothing comforting about them anymore. That cake had been my gift to him. It had been my way of showing that, even though things weren’t perfect, I still had his back.

But now? Now, I felt hollow. It wasn’t just about the wedding. It wasn’t even just about Claire. It was about everything I had sacrificed for others—whether it was my marriage, my career, or my brother—and how little of it had ever been truly appreciated.

The doorbell rang again. This time, my hands were steady, but the deep ache in my chest hadn’t lessened. It was like a wound that refused to close.