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She asked if I was angry with her, and I cupped her face gently, promising that she had done nothing wrong. Someone else had caused this hurt, and deep down I already knew who. Earlier that week, my fiancé Daniel’s sister Clara had eyed the dress with thinly veiled disapproval, calling it “homespun” and asking a few too-casual questions about where it would be kept overnight. Now the pieces fit together.
I found Clara downstairs arranging fruit at the makeshift breakfast table, calm and polished as if nothing were wrong. I asked her to step into the hallway, where the noise of the house softened behind a closed door. I told her what I had discovered, and when her gaze flickered toward the stairs, her silence spoke louder than denial. Daniel arrived moments later, confusion turning to disbelief as I explained. He looked at his sister, then at me, and made his choice without hesitation. Clara was asked to apologize to Lily and leave the house.
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