My soulmate, Richard, and I married last month.
However, the days leading up to the wedding were not the fantasy I had imagined as a child.

I always envisioned walking down the aisle in a stunning gown, feeling like the most beautiful woman on earth, not out of vanity but because every bride deserves to feel gorgeous on her special day.

I took my mother, Martha, and younger sister, Jane, to the wedding salon to pick the right outfit.

Putting on the third outfit, everything clicked. Soft white gown with off-the-shoulder lace shimmered with every step.

Even the expert said I looked great. Seeing myself in the mirror brought tears. I recognized the outfit.

I eagerly sought Mom and Jane’s advice.

Face lighted up, Jane. “Lizzie, you look great! Richard will swoon at your sight, she said.

My mother sat motionless, arms folded, mouth scrunched.
“Is it too much, do you agree?” Finally, she said.

She pointed vaguely to simpler dress racks. “Maybe choose something less flashy. Try not to overshadow your sister.”

Shocked. “Outperform my sister? At my wedding?”

Mom leant in like a confidant. Jane hasn’t met anybody yet, Sweetheart. You shouldn’t take all the spotlight. Help her, don’t be selfish.”

An pain I knew too well replaced my delight in an instant.

“Mom, stop,” Jane whispered. This is Lizzie’s day.

Mom groaned, dismissing us as problematic.

Still, I purchased the outfit, thinking my mother would get over it. But she didn’t. That was just beginning.

I collapsed on our sofa that night, shocked by what transpired.

Richard immediately saw something was amiss.

“What happened?” he inquired softly.

“My mom thinks my dress is too much. She urged me not to make Jane seem terrible on my wedding day, I added, voice shaking.

His eyebrows raised. “She said that?”

“Yes. This is old news. My life has been about giving Jane room and letting her shine.”

My hand was squeezed. “Lizzie, wear your favorite dress. Our wedding, not hers. Mom will have to accept it.”

I sought comfort in his words.

Perfect weather for our wedding morning. Mom entered when I was doing my hair in the wedding room. My garment caught her attention.

“You’re really wearing that?” she questioned, disappointed.

“I am, Mom.”

Your sister will seem invisible.”
I breathed steadily. Mom, please. Not today.”

Her argument ended, she fussed with flowers and departed.

When I was applying my makeup an hour later, the door opened again. Jane entered in a wedding white floor-length gown with a beaded bodice.

Too extravagant for a maid of honor.

Heart fell. Mom was victorious behind her.

“Isn’t she lovely?” Mom gushed.

I wanted to shout. But I wouldn’t let them destroy today.

I towered. “Let’s do this,” I said.

I forgot the pandemonium as I came down the aisle and saw Richard’s face light up.

I knew I’d made the correct decision when he said, “You’re the most beautiful bride,” despite Jane’s white gown in every shot.

The celebration glittered with flowers, lights, and champagne. I tried to concentrate.

Jane seized the mike and spoke, nervously.
She started, “Before I say anything else, I need to tell my sister something.”

She said, “Lizzie, I’m sorry,” crying. Mom has always placed me first—on birthdays, in school, and now. She advised me to wear this clothing to stand out. That’s unfair.”

Mom’s face was white when Jane turned.

“It’s not Lizzie’s job to make me feel special,” she said. This is her wedding. The bride is lovely.

Eyes washed by Jane. “I packed another outfit. I’ll alter.”

The gathering applauded when Jane withdrew and returned in a modest navy-blue gown that fit her wonderfully.

I raced to embrace her, sobbing.

“I should have stood up for you sooner,” she muttered.

“We both should have,” I said.

Mum sat quietly, scared. Later, she approached us during the dance.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I thought I helped Jane.”

Finally unified, we informed her, “You weren’t.”

Mom eventually saw me on the patio.

Over the years, I attempted to safeguard Jane. “I didn’t see how it hurt you,” she cried.

I said gently, “For so long, you never really saw me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, clutching our hands. “I want to improve.”

It seemed like a start, whether she intended it or not.

While Richard and I danced, one of his buddies praised Jane’s daring. Jane grinned confidently.

Perhaps she was finally being recognized for who she was, not what Mom wanted.

Richard and I discovered that the most significant family is sometimes the one you form together.

Love merits standing in your own light without apologies.

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