Rosie nodded so enthusiastically that her curls bounced around her face.
That night, I buried my face in my pillow and cried as quietly as I could.
I was heartbroken, but beneath that heartbreak was something uglier—something I felt ashamed to admit.
I wondered why he had chosen her instead of me.
I wondered whether he truly loved her.
And for one terrible moment, I wondered whether he believed marrying Rosie would make him look noble.
Those thoughts made me hate myself.
Rosie was my sister. I had defended her all my life, yet part of me was now questioning whether she deserved to be loved by the man I had wanted.
The next morning, I forced a smile and helped her create a wedding inspiration board.
“You’ll stand beside me, won’t you?” she asked. “You’ll be my maid of honor?”
I squeezed her hand.
“Of course I will.”
A small part of me expected our parents to object. Instead, they seemed almost relieved.
“Ben will take excellent care of her,” my mother said.
At the time, I thought it was simply a mother’s approval.
I did not understand what she was really saying.
