My sister labeled me “mentally unstable” and barred me from her lavish wedding. Our parents backed her, saying they didn’t want a failure spoiling the celebration. I said nothing and let their cruelty stand. But on the wedding day, the groom shut everything down after a fire at the venue. When they discovered the reason, they rushed to me for answers—only to learn that not everyone deserves another chance.

The officer nodded once, businesslike. “All right. Let’s step over here and go through what you have.”

Alyssa lunged forward, grabbing my arm hard enough to hurt. Up close, I could see the panic under her anger. “You’re really going to do this?” she hissed. “On my wedding day?”

“You made it my problem months ago,” I said, pulling free. “You just didn’t expect consequences.”

While the guests watched from the sidewalk and the fire marshal moved in and out of the ballroom, I sat on the curb with the officer and emailed him the screenshots: vendor voicemails, the spreadsheet with my card listed, the bank alerts, and the message from Alyssa where she threatened to paint me as unstable if I didn’t cooperate. When I hit send, my hands stopped shaking. Not because it felt good—because it felt final.

Lucas appeared a few minutes later, damp suit jacket in his hands, hair wild like he’d been running his fingers through it all day. His expression was hollow, the look of a person who just watched his future collapse. He approached cautiously.

“Emma?” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how deep it went until last week.”

I studied him. I’d met him twice, both times with Alyssa clinging to his arm like a prize. He’d seemed polite, a little too eager to please my parents. Now he looked like someone who’d finally realized what he’d married into.

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