I walked into Everly & Co. Bridal in Charleston carrying my sister’s oversized designer tote like a pack mule. The place smelled of expensive perfume and steamed satin. Soft music played over hidden speakers while a row of gowns glittered under impossibly bright lights. I was the only one in army boots under all that sparkle.

My sister, Vanessa, was standing on a small platform in front of a wall of mirrors, auditioning for the role of royalty. She twirled in a crystal-covered gown while our mother, Diane, clapped her hands and told her she looked stunning. The sales staff hovered around her like she was a celebrity. Nobody even looked at me except when they needed something fetched.

Vanessa snapped her fingers, not looking at me. “Karen, the veil. The one with the beads. Hurry up, you’re so slow.”
Her voice, sharp and imperious, carried across the boutique. I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Being barked at by a drill sergeant in formation never bothered me, but being ordered around by my little sister in a wedding dress ignited a slow burn deep in my gut. I grabbed the ridiculously expensive veil from the rack and walked back toward her platform.“Here,” I said, keeping my tone even.

She spun, her eyes cutting into mine. Then she slapped me across the face.

It was hard enough to sting, hard enough to echo. The room went silent except for a few shocked gasps. One of our cousins dropped her phone. Vanessa’s voice, colder than ice, sliced through the pause.

“Just leave. You’re ruining my moment.”

She turned back toward the mirror, lifting her chin as if nothing had happened. Heat shot up my neck. My face burned, but I stayed still. Years of training in active combat zones had taught me how to keep my cool under fire, but it didn’t stop the acid of humiliation from crawling under my skin. People stared, then quickly pretended not to. The sales clerk shifted from foot to foot. My mother looked away, suddenly fascinated by a rack of bridesmaid dresses. Nobody said a word.