They called me selfish and heartless at my brother’s extravagant wedding.
Then they shoved me straight into the pool.
One second I was standing beside the stone terrace in a dark emerald satin dress, clutching a glass of sparkling water and trying to survive another painful family speech. The next, my mother’s voice sliced through the music.
“There she is,” Diane announced loudly enough for half the reception to hear. “The daughter who refuses to help her own brother.”
My stomach knotted instantly.
Ethan, the groom, stood beside her in a white tuxedo, already flushed from too much champagne.
His bride, Claire, looked uneasy but stayed silent.
“Mom,” I said quietly. “Please don’t do this here.”
“Oh, now you’re embarrassed?” she snapped. “You should be. Your brother gave this family something to be proud of today, while you gave us selfishness.”
Heads turned toward me.
I knew exactly what this was about.
Three weeks earlier, Ethan demanded that I liquidate my investment portfolio.
Not borrow from it.
Not help with something practical.
Sell it.
Every dollar of my $300,000 portfolio had come from ten years of overtime shifts, skipped vacations, and bonuses I never spent on myself.
And he wanted it to pay for a six-week luxury honeymoon across Italy, Dubai, and Bora Bora.
When I refused, he accused me of being jealous.
Mom called me coldhearted.
Dad reminded me that family sacrifices for each other.
Family.
Funny how I was always the one expected to sacrifice.
