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.

“What happened in there?” I asked.

He swallowed. “I found a credit application in my name. Same handwriting as the vendor contracts. When I confronted her, she said your parents told her you ‘always make things about you’ and that I should ignore it. Then your dad called me ungrateful.” His jaw tightened. “I lost it. I threw the folder. I didn’t mean to start a fire, but those candles… everything went up so fast.”

“You’re lucky no one got hurt,” I said.

“I know,” he replied, voice cracking. “I’ve already told the police it was my fault. Whatever happens to me, I can live with it. I just… I needed it to stop.”

Alyssa screamed his name from across the sidewalk, fury and disbelief tangled together. Lucas flinched, but he didn’t move.

The next hours were a blur of statements and signatures. Because the fire was minor and the sprinklers contained it, the legal focus quickly shifted to money: who signed what, whose credit was used, which vendors were unpaid, and why multiple applications had been filed. My parents tried to talk over me. The officer asked them to wait their turn.

When it was all done, the crowd dispersed. The hotel manager taped a “Closed” sign to the ballroom door. The wedding party loaded soggy bouquets into cars. And my family, for the first time in my life, had nothing left to threaten me with.

They tried anyway.

Continue reading…