Taylor Reed had never been the favorite child in her family—not in Louisville, not anywhere. Growing up, she watched her younger sister, Amanda, get every privilege, every excuse, and every ounce of attention as if she were made of glass. Still, Taylor never imagined that favoritism would follow her into adulthood, let alone into the most important day of her life.
Eight months earlier, Taylor married the man she loved, Eli Thompson, in a small and intimate ceremony at a local vineyard just outside the city. She had sent invitations to her parents, Linda and Charles Reed, and to Amanda nearly two months in advance. She even called each of them personally the week before.
And yet, on her wedding day, the entire left side of the ceremony—the side reserved for her family—remained painfully, humiliatingly empty.
The pastor noticed. The guests noticed. Eli noticed most of all, squeezing her trembling hand every time she looked over at the rows of vacant white chairs. Her parents didn’t call. Amanda didn’t text. No one sent flowers, gifts, or even a flimsy excuse.
A week later, when Taylor confronted them, her mother simply shrugged and said, “Sweetheart, we were busy. You know how chaotic things get.”
Amanda didn’t even pretend. “Honestly,” she said, flipping her hair, “a tiny vineyard wedding wasn’t worth missing my weekend plans.”
After that, Taylor stopped trying. She distanced herself, answered fewer calls, and focused on her quiet, peaceful life with Eli.
Until now.
Amanda was getting married in two weeks—an extravagant downtown ceremony that their parents were treating like a royal coronation. And suddenly, after months of ignoring her feelings, they were furious at Taylor for not promising to attend.
“You’re being dramatic,” her father snapped over the phone. “Amanda’s wedding is important.”
More important than hers, apparently.
But what pushed Taylor from hurt to heartbreak happened the night she returned to her parents’ house to pick up childhood photo albums. As she waited on the porch, she heard the mail slot clatter. A letter slid across the floor—her own wedding invitation, one she had mailed months ago.
She bent down and picked it up just as Amanda’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Ugh, that thing again? I told you to toss it. Like anyone cares about her little bargain-bin wedding.”
A burst of laughter followed. Then the sound of paper ripping.
Taylor stood frozen on the porch, her own invitation shaking in her hand.
She had proof now—proof that they hadn’t forgotten her wedding.
They had mocked it.
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