Chapter 2 - The Truth Exposed
"Mom, please," Daniel finally stepped forward from the altar, his hands outstretched. "What are you doing? This is our wedding day. If there’s some family issue, we can discuss it after—"
"There is no 'after' to a marriage built on a foundation of lies, Daniel," Margaret turned to her son, her voice softening only slightly. "Do you know how Clara got those scars?"
Daniel looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and a sudden, terrible dawning realization. He had always been polite to me, but we had never been close; Emily had always kept me at a distance, scheduling family dinners at times she knew I couldn't make, or gently suggesting I stay home "for my own comfort."
"She... Emily said Clara was injured in a gas leak when they were kids," Daniel whispered. "She said it was a tragic accident at a neighbor’s house."
"A neighbor's house?" I whispered, my voice cracked and dry.
I looked at my mother. Linda finally looked away from the floral arrangements, her face burning a deep, shameful red. My father clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, but he still refused to speak, still refused to defend the daughter who had burned so his youngest could live.
"Your sister didn't burn at a neighbor's house, Daniel," Margaret said, her voice echoing off the stained glass. "She burned in the master bedroom of the Whitmore home. She went back inside after their parents had already run out to safety. She crawled through a collapsing ceiling, wrapped her own body around Emily's, and shielded her from a falling structural beam. The doctors didn't think Clara would survive the night. She spent three years in a burn unit, undergoing forty-two reconstructive surgeries, while Emily grew up to be the 'perfect, beautiful child' who got everything she ever wanted."
Emily’s face twisted into an expression of sheer rage. "This is my day! You have no right to do this, Margaret! You’re ruining everything! I spent a year planning this wedding!"
"No, Emily," Daniel said, his voice suddenly dropping into a register I had never heard from him before. He looked at his bride, really looked at her, his eyes scanning her perfect makeup, her pristine gown, and then looking down at me, sitting in the chair with my scars hidden beneath ivory lace. "My mother didn't ruin this wedding. You did."
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He took a step back from the altar, his hands dropping to his sides.
"You told me your sister preferred to stay in the back because she was sensitive about her appearance," Daniel said, his voice trembling with a mixture of disgust and heartbreak. "You told me she didn't want to be in the photos because it made her uncomfortable. You lied to me, Emily. About the fire. About Clara. About who you are."
