At my sister’s engagement party, she grabbed the mic, grinning. “Meet my maid of honor—oh wait, no.” She fake-pouted. “Too ugly for the role.

“Meet my maid of honor,” she exclaimed, grabbing the microphone at my sister’s engagement party while grinning.

She then pretended to pout as if it were the best prank ever. “Oh, hold on. No. Too unattractive for the part. Look for someone more attractive.

The audience chuckled. Our folks gave us applause. Aunt Carol grinned. I grinned as well—not because it didn’t hurt, but rather because I could identify the pattern in the same way that you can identify the weather. I toasted to love nonetheless and gave her fiancé a tiny present.

All of a sudden, nobody was laughing.

Jennifer grabbed the bandleader’s microphone and gave it two taps. Everyone winced at the feedback screech, but she maintained her flawless smile as if it were a natural feature of her face. She chuckled and said, “Sorry, sorry,” but she didn’t seem sorry at all. “But I just have to tell you all, lovely people, something.”

As usual at these family gatherings, I stood close to the dessert table, attempting to disappear into the background. As affluent individuals dressed in luxury clothing sipped champagne and engaged in small talk about their stock portfolios and vacation homes, the chocolate fountain gurgled next to me.

“As you all know, selecting a maid of honor is such an important decision,” Jennifer went on, her voice resonating throughout the hall. You choose your sister, according to tradition, right?My stomach knotted as a few individuals nodded and muttered agreement. With this, where was she headed?

“Well, I’ve been considering it for weeks,” Jennifer said, her gaze scanning the throng before settling on me. They flashed that familiar predatory glimmer. “And to be honest, I just can’t do it.”

I want to thank you for listening to these stories about discovering your voice before we go any farther. Please think about subscribing if you think it’s important to confront family bullies. It helps us reach more women in need of this bravery and is free. Let’s watch how this plays out now.

With the exception of the faint jazz music playing in the background, the room fell silent. A glass was cautiously clinked by someone. Feeling the cool crystal against my palm, I tightened my grasp on my champagne flute.

Jennifer pointed to me and said, “Look at her, I mean. She’s so cute, little Sarah. Where did you get that dress? The Walmart clearance rack?A few individuals chuckled. Dad’s business partner Harold Morrison literally burst out laughing. I could see Mom’s shoulders trembling with repressed laughter even though she had her mouth shut.

Michael whispered, “Jennifer,” but she dismissed him.

“Oh, Michael, hurry up. She is aware that I am merely having fun. Sis, don’t you?Jennifer’s voice was brimming with phony love. “Everyone, I need someone who can appear good in pictures. Someone who won’t turn my wedding album into a commercial with before and after photos.

The crowd erupted in more laughter. With what appeared to be agreement, Aunt Carol lifted her wine glass. The performance of their golden daughter made our parents smile. I plastered a smile onto my lips, the same well-honed look I’d developed over thirty-two years of being Jennifer’s prey.

Tonight, though, something felt different.

Perhaps it was the little wrapped package I had been carrying for three weeks in my purse. Perhaps it was the way Michael stood a little distance away from Jennifer, his mouth tightly clinched as if he were about to strike.

Jennifer triumphantly declared, “I have decided to make Madison, my beautiful sorority sister, my maid of honor. Isn’t she flawless?”

Madison’s blond hair caught the chandelier light as she waved from the other side of the room. Like Jennifer, she had flawless skin, flawless teeth, and a picture-perfect appearance. The audience gave a courteous applause, and I took advantage of the commotion to get closer to the front, swerving between groups of people who were already getting back to talking about charity galas and tennis competitions.

“Now, let’s toast to love and happiness,” Jennifer added, at last placing the microphone back on its pedestal.

Everybody lifted their glasses. In a symphony of power and prosperity, crystals clinked together. But I moved ahead before anyone had a chance to drink.

“Actually, Jennifer, I’d like to make a toast too,” I added, speaking louder than I had anticipated amid the abrupt silence.

Jennifer’s smile wavered for a moment before returning to its proper position. “Oh, Sarah, how kind of you. My sister wants to say something kind to everyone.

I took out the little white box I had wrapped so meticulously the previous evening—just plain white paper and silver ribbon, nothing fancy—from my purse. According to everyone in this room, just like me.

I held the package out to Michael and added, “I brought you both an engagement gift.” “I thought you should see something special.”

Despite his bewildered appearance, Michael took a step forward. He reached for it with unsteady hands. I had observed that he had consumed more alcohol than normal tonight, most likely in an attempt to endure another of Jennifer’s performances.

Jennifer responded, “How thoughtful,” but I heard a hint of a sharp tone in her voice. She disliked surprises, especially ones that she hadn’t prepared.

Feeling the weight of all the looks in the room, I lifted my champagne glass. Mom appeared pleased, perhaps anticipating that I would finally say something kind about her favorite daughter. Already bored, Dad looked at his phone. Aunt Carol grinned as if she was anticipating another joke.

As I saw Michael start to untie the ribbon with quivering fingers, I said simply, “To love and to get exactly what you deserve.”

Like smoke, the words hung in the air.

I saw Michael’s expression shift as he opened the box—from bewilderment to recognition to what appeared to be panic. Under the ballroom lights, the tiny flash drive inside sparkled silver.

“What is it?Jennifer leaned in to inquire.

Michael’s knuckles were white against the cardboard, but he had already shut the box. With the exception of the gentle jazz, which all of a sudden sounded too loud, the room fell silent. The chocolate fountain seemed to have ceased gushing as well.

I waited with my glass up.

I had been preparing for this moment for months, not out of resentment but out of survival. Jennifer had made me feel little, unworthy, and invisible for our whole lives. She had ruined my job interviews, snatched my prom date, and made family get-togethers into occasions for public humiliation.

However, this evening was unique.

She was unaware of something I had tonight.

I whispered, “Michael, open it properly.” “I believe that everyone would be thrilled to see what’s inside.”

Jennifer’s flawless grin started to fracture. Michael drew the box closer to his chest as she reached for it.

His voice was hardly audible above a whisper when he replied, “Maybe we should do this privately.”

I finally took a sip of my champagne and said, “Oh no.” It had a triumphant flavor. Everyone in this room should see, in my opinion. Jennifer enjoys sharing things with large groups of people, after all.

There was a long pause. There was a cough. Something was told to her spouse by a woman wearing a crimson outfit. Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, the band completely stopped performing. And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t the object of everyone’s sympathy or laughter.

I was in charge.

Michael held the flash drive in his palm like a small explosive device. My thoughts strayed to a previous instance in which I had all the power, only to see Jennifer take it away, as I watched his face turn pale.

I was standing on the elementary school stage at the age of seven, wearing a blue dress with a white collar. Mom had been helping me learn my lines for the spring performance for weeks. The most crucial role was going to be mine as the narrator.

However, Jennifer persuaded Mrs. Henderson that she would be a better fit for the part three days prior to the performance.

Sarah had remarked pleasantly, “Sarah’s voice is so quiet.” “I project much more effectively.”

Mom gave a nod of consent. “There is no denying Jennifer’s greater stage presence.”

As the third tree, I stood quietly in the background as Jennifer recited my meticulously prepared lines to great acclaim. I learnt how to make myself smaller so she could be larger for the first time.

All the way through middle school, the trend persisted. Jennifer joined every club I expressed interest in, and in a matter of weeks, she rose to the position of captain or president. She persuaded the coach that having two sisters may cause family strife that would detract from the team’s focus when I tried out for the debate team.

I got cut.

She wasn’t.

Everyone still discussed the prom incident from high school at family get-togethers. Three weeks in advance, Danny Patterson asked me to junior prom. For once in my life, I felt beautiful after purchasing a pink dress and practicing dancing in my bedroom.

Jennifer then made the decision that she desired him.

The day before prom, I caught them sharing a kiss near the entrance of the gymnasium. Jennifer simply grinned and stated he realized he’d prefer to go with someone who knows how to have fun, while Danny had the grace to appear embarrassed.

Mom sat on my bed and stroked my hair while I sobbed that night. Jennifer very likely spared you from humiliation, honey. Danny is highly well-liked. It’s possible that you were unprepared to deal with that kind of attention.

I stayed home with a pint of ice cream and old movies the following night, and the words hurt more than seeing them dance together.

State University, which is three hours distant from Jennifer’s exclusive liberal arts institution, was meant to be my new beginning. I had my own friends, my own identity, and my own little victories for two wonderful years. I even had a short story published after joining the campus literary journal. For the first time, I was recognized as Sarah the author rather than Jennifer’s awkward sibling.

However, Jennifer transferred to my school her senior year.

She said to our parents, “I want to be closer to family.”

She genuinely wanted to ensure that, even from a distance, I didn’t overshadow her.

In less than a semester, she became the social chair of my sorority. Despite the fact that she had never expressed interest in him before, she began dating the man I had been crushing on for months. She hosted parties in our small shared apartment, inviting everyone I knew, and then she would spend the evenings making inane remarks about my quiet nature, my weight, and my wardrobe.

Sarah would tell my acquaintances, “Sarah is such a homebody.” “She prefers reading to going on real adventures.”

I believed that distance would at last provide me serenity after graduation. I found a position at the Milbrook Public Library, relocated across the state, and established a life apart from Jennifer. Despite its lack of glamour, my small apartment above the bakery was mine. I had my garden, my books, and my old neighbor Mrs. Chin, who spent Sunday afternoons teaching me how to cook dumplings.

I was just Sarah for three years; I wasn’t Jennifer’s sister, the letdown, or the warning story.

I was known to the kids who attended storytime as Miss Sarah, who provided all of the amusing voices. I was trusted by the adolescents working on their research projects to find the precise information they required. I was invited to the monthly wine-and-cheese events hosted by the ladies of the book group.

Jennifer then made the decision to come over.

She arrived in her red BMW on a Tuesday afternoon, dressed in a fancy suit that most likely cost more than my monthly wage. Her footsteps clicked on the hardwood floors like a countdown clock, and the library fell silent as she entered.

So you’re employed here?She spoke so loudly that everyone could hear her.

After fifteen years of checking out romance novels, Mrs. Patterson appeared ashamed. Suddenly, his shoelaces seemed to captivate the teenage kid who was researching colleges.

Jennifer went on, tracing the dusty spine of an ancient encyclopedia with her well-groomed finger, “It’s nice that you found something so fitting.” “I mean, you were always more at ease hiding with books in corners than engaging in real life.”

She spent an hour promoting her downtown apartment and vibrant social life while talking to customers about her fascinating career. I felt invisible once more by the time she left. Everywhere Jennifer went, the self-assured woman I had grown into over the last three years retreated into her shadow.

After that, the unannounced, disruptive visits became routine. With air quotes that sounded like a consolation prize, she would remark on my unaltered haircut, my useful shoes, and my “adorable little life.”

The visits escalated after she began dating Michael Thompson. I was convenient, and she needed a crowd to be happy. She talked about their weekend getaways, their pricey dates, and the jewels he got her. She would show me pictures from her phone and wait for me to tell her how lucky she was.

At one visit, she declared, “He’s taking me to Paris next month.” There are ties to his family there. Being with someone who values quality at last is really pleasant.

The connotation was obvious. Such treatment would never be appropriate for me.

The whole family received a group text announcing the engagement. There was only a picture of her ring with the comment, “He finally did it,” rather than a private chat or personal call. Organizing the century’s greatest wedding.

Sitting in my peaceful apartment with a cold cup of tea in my hands, I gazed at the text for twenty minutes. She didn’t call me first, which didn’t surprise me. When she didn’t invite me to be her maid of honor, I wasn’t particularly shocked.

The follow-up text three days later caught me off guard.

If you would like, you can assist with the decorations. You’re adept at organizing tedious tasks.

The nonchalant rejection of those words, rather than the words themselves, was what made that message sit in my phone like a splinter. Thirty-two years of being an afterthought, a consolation prize, a sister who was good at hard labor but not deserving of being at her side on the most significant day of her life.

I repeatedly read that paragraph till the words became ingrained in my mind. Something changed inside of me throughout that reading. I gave up attempting to minimize myself so that I could blend in with Jennifer’s shadow for the first time in my life.

Rather, I began making plans.

It was more difficult than I had anticipated to plan. I sat in my apartment for weeks looking at that text message, trying to think of a way to ultimately defend myself.

The most surprising source provided the response.

On a Thursday night in March, Mom called in a panicked tone. “I need your assistance, Sarah, honey. This computer is making it impossible for me to transfer all of these family images to the cloud for Jennifer’s engagement slideshow.

The following morning, I drove over and discovered Mom with a laptop screen full of error messages and photo albums strewn all over the place. She had been attempting to scan thirty years’ worth of family photos, but she had never been good with computers.

Mom wrung her hands and muttered, “I promised Jennifer that I’d have everything ready by tonight.” “She wants to share all of our family’s memories with Michael.”

I took a seat at the kitchen table and began going through the uploads, which included pictures of babies, birthday celebrations, Christmas mornings, with Jennifer grinning in each one. Usually, I’m cut off at the edge or standing just behind her.

I was mentioned after the fact, even in our family’s past.

The computer was slow and outdated. The connection kept dropping off, and each picture took ages to upload. After three hours, a notification appeared in the screen’s corner.

I’m excited to meet you tonight, Jennifer Thompson.

I gazed at the text.

Thompson, Jennifer. Despite the fact that they were not yet married, she had already changed her last name on social media.

I couldn’t identify the message as coming from a family group chat. Whose cloud account is this, mom?I inquired.

Mom yelled out from the kitchen, where she was preparing sandwiches, “Oh, Jennifer set it up for me.” If we all used the same family account, she continued, it would be simpler. There’s something about sharing care.

This time, a longer message appeared.

Once more, Michael is working late. The time was ideal. Bring the champagne you mentioned.

My stomach fell.

Aiden Matthews was identified as the sender.

I looked in the direction of the kitchen. Totally unaware, Mom hummed as she sliced off sandwich crusts. I touched the notice with my finger. I ought not to click it. I have nothing to do with it.

But for thirty-two years, Jennifer had taken over every aspect of my life.

I made a click.

My breath seized in my throat as the message thread opened.

The screen displayed months’ worth of conversations, including plans for covert meetings, seductive texts, and pictures I most definitely shouldn’t be viewing.

Jennifer wrote just last week that she was getting married in three months. Then the fun really starts.

Are you certain you can complete it? Aiden answered.

Are you serious? Are you aware of his family’s wealth? After two years of marriage, there was a contentious divorce. Half of everything will go to me. We’ll have everything we need.

I read message after message while sitting motionless. This had been planned for months. Jennifer was marrying Michael for his money, intending to file for divorce as soon as she could get a sizable payout, and then fleeing with Aiden.

“How’s it in there, Sarah?Mom gave a call.

“All right,” I said, my voice hardly steady. “A few more minutes, please.”

As I went farther back, I came across messages that made me shudder: Jennifer griping about having to pretend to be a devoted fiancée when all she wanted was access to the Thompson family’s wealth, and Aiden urging her to take advantage of it.

However, the worst part occurred almost at the end of a two-week-old talk.

Jennifer wrote, “I had to go see my dull sister today.” She continues to live in her depressing tiny apartment and work at that pitiful library. To be honest, Aiden, there are moments when I feel sorry for her. She is really innocent. She genuinely believes that I value our time together as a family.

Aiden said, “Poor thing.” It’s a good thing she’s too dimwitted to realize the truth.

Sarah has always been a slow learner. She still believes that I am the perfect child. The ease with which I can coerce her into assisting with wedding-related tasks is absolutely comical. Free work.

The messages continued, describing how Jennifer had been using me as unpaid assistance while making fun of my foolishness behind my back, how she had purposefully chosen Madison to be her maid of honor in order to harm me, knowing that I had anticipated being asked, and how she had told Aiden everything about my failed relationships and lack of social life for their amusement.

Jennifer commented, “I sometimes wonder what would have happened if our parents had actually paid attention to her instead of me.” Then I recall how uninteresting she is. At least the family looks well because of my achievement.

Scrolling through months’ worth of material made my hands tremble. Screenshots would not suffice. I required something more solid.

By clicking the incorrect icon while attempting to close the messages, I unintentionally discovered the video folder.

Jennifer’s face filled the screen as she sat in what appeared to be a hotel room, obviously drunk.

She chuckled and threw a pillow at the camera, saying, “Aiden, you’re recording me.” “Cease it.”

From behind the camera, Aiden said, “Come on, tell me the truth.” Will you actually marry this guy?”

“I am, of course,” Jennifer chuckled. “Are you aware of the value of his family’s building business? In addition, when he becomes thirty-five, his trust money begins to grow. Baby, that’s next year.

From what appeared to be a wine glass, she took a long sip.

“After playing house for two years, the divorce settlement arrived.” I won’t have to see Michael or his dull family ever again, and we’ll be wealthy.

How about your sister?Aiden inquired. Will she not be suspicious?”

Jennifer started giggling. “Sarah? Are you serious? She will believe anything I tell her because she is so thirsty for my acceptance. She would find a way to justify me robbing a bank. Since we were young, she has been my helpful little puppet.

The video continued, with Jennifer outlining her objectives, making fun of Michael’s trust, and making hurtful remarks about my appearance and character.

Every statement struck like a punch to the body.

However, something else developed inside of me in place of the usual hurt and shame—something cold and calculating I had never experienced before.

I took out a flash drive from Mom’s desk drawer and began transferring materials that demonstrated their plans, including screenshots, videos, and bank records showing money transactions between Jennifer and Aiden’s accounts.

“How much longer, Sarah, honey?Mom gave a call.

As I watched the progress bar slowly move forward, I remarked, “Almost done.” “Just making sure everything is safe.”

I erased the browser’s history and shut off every window when the copying was complete. I then completed downloading the naive family pictures that Mom requested. Despite the storm screaming in my chest, my hands remained firm.

“Everything is ready,” I declared as I entered the kitchen. “The pictures are prepared for Jennifer’s slideshow and have been uploaded.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Mom smiled. “You’re such a helpful sister, always lending a hand.” You are such a blessing to Jennifer.

I accepted a sandwich with a smile on my face and chewed it mechanically as my thoughts raced. I had something that Jennifer was unaware of for the first time in my life.

And I was about to use it for the first time in my life.

My head was racing with all the options as the long drive home from Mom’s house went by. I stared at the flash drive on my kitchen table all evening while it sat in my purse like a loaded gun.

It was one thing to know the truth. It was quite another to know what to do with it.

For the first time in two years, I called in ill to work the following morning. Rather than classifying books and assisting customers, I took a seat with a cup of coffee on my laptop and began making plans.

My initial reaction was to give Michael a call, tell him everything, and let him take care of it. However, that seemed too straightforward and too personal. Jennifer had publicly humiliated me for decades.

She should have been treated similarly.

Then I recalled something she had said when she was at a library. For the engagement celebration, she was putting together a surprise slideshow with pictures and videos from their romance. She had requested a number of family members to help, but Michael’s lack of cooperation had angered her.

She had griped, “He’s sharing pictures in such an odd way.” “If you can’t express your delight, what good is dating someone?”

That inspired me.

I sent Michael a well-crafted text after retrieving his contact details from the family group chat.

Hello, Michael. Jennifer said she’s having trouble finding pictures for the engagement slideshow. I would be delighted to assist in surprising her. Would you mind sharing a few of your best photos and videos from your time together? Until the celebration, I swear to keep it a secret.

In less than an hour, he replied.

Sarah, that is incredibly considerate. Jennifer is fortunate to have a sister who cares so much. Tonight, I’ll email over some files.

The pictures, which documented two years of our relationship through dinners, family get-togethers, vacations, and peaceful times at home, arrived in my email by evening.

I came across something intriguing while perusing them. In the most recent photos, Michael’s smile seems forced. His eyes were weary. He looked genuinely joyful in earlier pictures, but that happiness had gradually subsided.

After choosing the most illuminating photos, I began creating my own slideshow, which was much more revealing than the love montage Jennifer had anticipated.

I started methodically integrating myself into their life throughout the course of the following week. I offered to assist with logistics and vendor coordination as part of my volunteer work for the wedding.

Jennifer was thrilled to receive free help.

During a planning session at her residence in the downtown area, she remarked, “At last, you’re being helpful.” “I was beginning to believe that you were unconcerned about my happiness.”

I surreptitiously observed her behavior, grinned, and made notes on catering choices. She made quiet calls she said were for work and was always checking her phone because she was stressed. She appeared to be performing rather than unwinding while Michael was present.

Michael expressed worries regarding their venue deposit during one visit. “Perhaps we ought to look at a less costly location,” he proposed. “Recent quarterly reports from Thompson Industries haven’t been very good.”

Jennifer’s façade briefly faltered. “Michael, we’re not switching locations. This is the wedding of my dreams.

Then, sharper: “But your family has money if the company is struggling.” “Stop being so paranoid about finances,” she said.

There was enough tension in the room to sever. I seemed to be concentrating on my laptop, but I was taking in every word, gesture, and indication that their relationship was unstable.

I made the decision to test Aiden in the interim.

I made a fictitious account on an anonymous messaging platform and sent a brief message saying, “I know about you and Jennifer.”

He reacted quickly and in a panic.

Who is this? What are you looking for?

“Just watching,” I said. It’s interesting that she tells people about your private chats.

Aiden bombarded me with increasingly desperate messages throughout the course of the following few days, demanding to know my identity and my knowledge. I saved every word, but I didn’t reply. His paranoia was just what I wanted.

Jennifer felt the impact right away. She got agitated and suspicious, asking Michael about his acquaintances and colleagues all the time. He strongly refuted her accusations that he had disclosed information about their connection.

While picking up wedding favors, I overheard her hissing, “Someone knows about us.” “There have been inquiries.”

With a tinny voice over the speaker, Aiden said, “You’re being paranoid.” “Just follow the plan.”

Jennifer, however, wasn’t content. She began to visit my library more often, looking for clues of dishonesty in my face. She asked me who I might have talked to about the family, my social life, and my coworkers.

“You haven’t been spreading rumors about my relationship, have you?One afternoon, with a light tone and keen gaze, she asked. “Weird questions have been asked by some people.”

“Obviously not,” I replied, calmly stamping books. “Aside from family get-togethers, I hardly know Michael.”

Everything picked up speed the week before the engagement celebration. Due to work-related obligations, Michael had to postpone their venue tour. Jennifer yelled at Mom about his petty and bothersome practical worries. Stress was apparent, and she was losing control of her meticulously planned strategy.

I worked on my presentation throughout those last several days. Everything I needed was on the flash drive, but timing would be key. People can go before seeing everything if it’s too early. Jennifer might try to manipulate the issue if it’s too late.

I practiced my toast in front of my bathroom mirror the night before the celebration. I had to speak steadily and confidently without becoming combative. I wasn’t looking for retribution. All I was doing was telling the truth.

I raised an empty glass of water to my reflection and said, “To love and to getting exactly what you deserve.”

It felt strong as I spoke those words.