The accusation sliced through the garden and landed on every table. My aunt Elena covered her mouth. One of Diego’s cousins muttered, “What is happening?” The officiant stepped back, stunned into silence.
I could hear the fountain near the rose bushes. I could hear a bird somewhere in the jacaranda tree. And beneath all of it, I could hear my own pulse, steadying instead of breaking.
Because for the first time in my life, I was not unprepared for my sister.
Diego moved closer to me, near enough that our arms touched.
“Tell me what you want,” he said quietly, his voice meant only for me.
There was no panic in him. No embarrassment. No anger he needed to perform for the crowd. Just that same calm steadiness he had given me the night my old life cracked open on my parents’ sidewalk.
I looked at him, then at Valentina, and felt something unfamiliar rise inside me.
Not revenge.
Not even rage.
Authority.
“I want to answer her,” I said.
Diego nodded once and stepped back, not to leave me alone, but to give me the space to stand in my own name.
So I turned to the guests. My dress felt suddenly light. The fear I had expected never arrived.