told Nathan’s aunt.
The same story Felicity had been spreading for years.
But this time, it had reached someone who had a reason to question it.
“Who sent that email?” Nathan asked.
Silas didn’t answer at first.
He held out the paper to me.
I walked toward the head table, aware of 120 people watching.
The message was printed on a single sheet.
At the bottom was a familiar signature.
Felicity Morgan.
My sister’s former surname.
Her business email address appeared underneath it.
I read the message twice.
It claimed I had suffered from emotional difficulties since my mother’s death and that unexpected attention would be damaging to me.
It said my family was managing my situation privately.
It asked Silas not to contact me again.
I looked up.
“You wrote this?”
Felicity shifted her weight.
“Jenna, you don’t understand.”
“It’s a yes-or-no question.”
“I was trying to prevent an awkward situation.”
Nathan stood.
“An awkward situation? My father wanted to thank your sister.”
“You know how she gets,” Felicity answered quickly.
“She doesn’t like attention.”
“That’s not what this email says,” he replied.
Her eyes darted toward the guests.
“Can we please discuss this privately? It’s our wedding.”
I looked at the paper again.
For years, I’d wondered why people who barely knew me seemed uncomfortable around me at family gatherings.
Now I understood that some had been told stories about my mental stability, my social behavior, and my ability to handle ordinary relationships.
Felicity hadn’t merely excluded me.
She had built an explanation for my absence that made her look compassionate.
The realization hurt more than her jokes.
“How many people have you said this to?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Felicity.”
My father rose from his seat.
“Jenna, this is not the place.”
I turned toward him.
“You laughed when she humiliated me.
And now you’re concerned about the place?”
His face reddened.
“Don’t be disrespectful.”
I felt something inside me become very calm.
“Dad, I haven’t raised my voice.
I’m asking why my sister told strangers I was unstable.”
Diane stepped forward.
“Felicity was only protecting the family’s privacy.”
Silas looked at her.
“From what? A thank-you dinner?”
Diane opened her mouth, then closed it.
Nathan took the paper from my hand and read it carefully.
“You specifically told my father not to speak to Jenna,” he said to Felicity.
“You even implied that her employer had concerns about her emotional condition.”
Felicity folded her arms.
“I was under pressure.
I didn’t want the whole wedding becoming about her.”
Nathan stared at her.
“Nobody suggested making the wedding about Jenna.
Dad wanted to arrange a private meeting afterward.”
“Well, I knew what would happen,” she snapped.
“Everyone would suddenly be talking about Jenna and her wonderful nursing career.”
The words came out sharper than she’d intended.
She heard herself and stopped.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Mrs.
Alvarez, still standing near Table Nineteen, said quietly, “So you lied because you were afraid someone might admire your sister?”
Felicity looked at her with open resentment.
“This is a family matter.”
“It became everybody’s business when you made her the joke of the reception,” Mrs.
Alvarez replied.
A low murmur passed through the guests.
I wished they would all stop watching.
But I also knew I
