12 The Sister’s Shameful Duty
“Step–sister, I corrected automatically.
“Hazel.” Alistair’s tone turned pleading. “Please. You’re already making this harder than it needs to be. Haven’t you upset her enough? The doctors said the stress from your confrontation at the office caused her collapse”
The injustice burned like acid. “My confrontation? She-”
“Hazel.” My father’s voice cut like steel. “This isn’t a request.”
I looked past them to where Ivy sat. Her eyes, wide and victorious, watched our exchange with barely concealed satisfaction. She lifted one frail hand in a delicate wave, the diamond on her finger–my diamond–catching the light.
“Ivy has so little time left,” Alistair continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Would it kill you
to to show some compassion just once?”
The guests had begun filing into their seats, curious glances darting our way. The whispers had already started. I could feel dozens of eyes watching the drama unfold, hear the murmurs spreading through the chapel.
“Did you hear? That’s his ex–fiancée…”
“I heard she refused to step aside until he paid her off…”
“How awkward that they invited her…”
Heat crawled up my neck. Trapped. They had me completely trapped.
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
Relief washed over Alistair’s face. He reached for my arm, but I jerked away from his touch.
“Don’t,” I warned. I
My father nodded curtly, as if I’d done nothing more than agree to pass the salt at dinner. “Good. Now fix your face. You look like you’re attending a funeral.”
I almost laughed. Wasn’t I?
I approached Ivy, whose smile widened as I drew near. Up close, I could see the pallor beneath her makeup, the slight tremor in her hands. She really was sick. But the triumph in her eyes
remained undimmed.
“Thank you, sis,” she whispered as I took position behind her wheelchair. “This means so much.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t trust myself to speak.
The music started–the same song I had chosen for my wedding. Another knife twist. As we began our slow procession down the aisle, the guests‘ expressions ranged from pity to morbid fascination. I held my head high, focusing on a spot on the far wall, refusing to make eye contact
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12 The Sister’s Shameful Duty
with anyone.
Halfway down the aisle, Ivy reached back and patted my hand on the wheelchair handle. “I’m sorry it worked out this way,” she said, loud enough for the closest rows to hear. “But I’ve always dreamed of having you by my side on my special day.”
More whispers. More stares. My fingers tightened on the handles, knuckles turning white.
We reached the altar, where Alistair waited. When he saw Ivy, his expression transformed. His eyes softened, filled with genuine tears. He looked at her the way he used to look at me–no, with even more tenderness, more devotion.
It wasn’t just about fulfilling a dying wish. He loved her.
The realization crashed over me like a wave. All those late nights when he’d claimed to be working. The sudden interest in my family gatherings. The way he’d defend Ivy when I complained about her behavior. How long had this been going on under my nose?
I positioned the wheelchair beside Alistair and stepped away. My designated seat was in the front row–another cruelty designed to ensure I witnessed every moment of my humiliation.
As I sat down, the finality of it all struck me. Eight years together, gone. Dreams, promises, plans–shattered. My shoulders began to shake, tears finally breaking free despite my best
efforts.
A white handkerchief appeared in my peripheral vision. Startled, I turned to find a man seated beside me. I hadn’t noticed him before. His face was half–turned away as he extended the handkerchief, offering it without looking directly at me.
After a moment’s hesitation, I took it, dabbing at my eyes.
“To be unable to marry you,” he said in a low, pleasant voice, “is his misfortune and his loss.”
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