My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

Clare came over that night with a binder, intense and determined. “I made you a schedule,” she announced.

I stared at it. “Clare,” I said, laughing, “this looks like a military operation.”

“It’s your wedding,” she said defensively. “I want it to be perfect.”

I held up a hand. “No,” I said gently. “I want it to be real.”Clare’s expression cracked, then softened. “Right,” she whispered. “Real.”

She sat beside me on the couch, binder forgotten. “I keep catching myself,” she admitted. “Still trying to make it look right.”

“That’s normal,” I said. “You were trained to believe love requires presentation.”

Clare nodded, eyes wet. “I’m trying to unlearn it,” she whispered.

Daniel walked in with groceries and paused when he saw Clare’s face. “Hey,” he said gently. “What’s going on?”

Clare wiped her cheeks quickly. “Nothing,” she lied.

Daniel set the groceries down and sat on the other side of her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” he said.

Clare laughed shakily. “I’m just… scared you’ll hate us if we mess up again,” she admitted.

Daniel’s expression softened. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I do expect you to keep choosing Sophia as your sister, not as your image accessory.”