Wedding Inferno: It's Time for Remorse

The group chat that had just fallen silent instantly came back to life.

My father, John Samson, said, "Brenda really knows how to handle things. Anna, you should learn from her."

My mother, Lydia Stone, added, "Exactly. You're the older one, but you still don't measure up to Brenda. You really need to reflect on yourself."

Ronald jeered, "If you're going to apologize, do it right. Stop pretending you didn't know. Some people really are rotten to the core."

Faced with their insults, I didn't cry or try to explain myself like I used to, and I didn't start an argument either. This had happened far too many times over the years. No matter what I said, they would never believe me, so speaking up felt pointless.

I muted the chat, unpinned it, and said nothing more. After that grueling day, my wounds started to heal bit by bit.

The hospital days were quiet. While other rooms were full of visitors, mine was almost deserted. A few friends came by now and then, but everyone had their own problems and couldn't stay with me.

Even the nurse asked if there was anyone left in my family who could look after me.

I simply smiled and thanked her for her concern.

With only ten days until the wedding, I never expected to see my parents and Ronald at the hospital, since they had never come for me before.

They appeared tense, with worry etched on their faces. I couldn't deny the stir of feeling it caused, but it passed quickly. I knew full well they hadn't come for me.

Sure enough, the elevator doors opened, and a man wheeled Brenda out in a wheelchair. When she saw my parents and Ronald, her face lit up with a bright smile. "Aunt Lydia, Uncle John, Ronald, why are you all here? I just twisted my ankle."

"You silly thing, a twisted ankle isn't a small thing. It must hurt a lot," Mom said, looking at her with concern.

I stood quietly in the corner, lowered my head, and glanced at my own foot, which had almost fully recovered.

During the wedding rehearsal, Brenda had shoved me, and I had fallen, twisting my ankle as well.

Back then, Mom had only pulled Brenda into her arms.

She had said, "It's just a twisted ankle. How much can it really hurt? Brenda didn't do it on purpose!"

She had told me not to make a big deal out of such a minor thing with Brenda, and now she was acting like a twisted ankle was a serious problem for her.

I took a deep breath, feeling like a fish stranded on dry land.

Home was so close, yet no matter what, I couldn't go back.

I never could.