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We had met two years earlier at a mutual friend’s bonfire, and I fell for him faster than I’d care to admit.
My younger sister, Chloe, was there too, of course. She’s two years younger than me, and ever since childhood, she had thrived on turning my highs into her stage. Chloe had always been jealous of me and was spoiled as the “baby of the family.”
If I won something at school, she’d mock me until I cried.
If I bought something new, like a dress, she’d whine to our parents and manipulate them until she got the same one in a different color. Then she’d strut around the house like she’d invented fashion and brag that it looked better on her.
If I made the honor roll, she’d pretend to faint at the dinner table to steal attention.
My sister learned quickly how to play that role to her advantage.
I didn’t want Chloe at my wedding. That’s the plain truth.
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