I stood frozen as Ivy grabbed the microphone, her bony fingers clutching it with surprising strength for someone supposedly on death's door. The wedding reception hall fell silent, all eyes turning to my stepsister in her stolen white dress—my dress.
"I want to thank everyone for coming today," Ivy began, her voice trembling with practiced emotion. "Especially my dear sister, Hazel."
She pointed to where I stood at the edge of the dance floor. Spotlights swung in my direction, blinding me momentarily. I squinted against the harsh light, feeling two hundred pairs of eyes boring into me.
"Not many sisters would do what Hazel has done for me," Ivy continued, dabbing at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief. "When the doctors told me I only had months to live, my greatest regret was never experiencing true love."
The crowd collectively sighed. Several women dabbed their eyes. I glanced at Mr. Sinclair beside me, his expression unreadable.
