“Emily,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
At first, I couldn’t even look at her. I was still so hurt.
But then something in her completely broke. She collapsed into one of the folding chairs and started sobbing.
That’s when Mom sat down beside her and took her hand, just like she’d done for me at the altar.
“Stacey, honey, talk to us. What’s really going on?”
And that’s when we learned the truth she’d been hiding.
“I’ve been so depressed,” she said through her tears. “For months. Maybe even years. I lost my job six months ago and haven’t told anyone. I’ve been living off my savings, pretending everything was fine.”
She looked up at me with red, swollen eyes. “I don’t leave my apartment most days. I don’t answer phone calls. I just sit there and watch everyone else live their lives on social media.”
Now, instead of feeling angry, I felt concerned for her.
“When I saw you so happy, planning your perfect wedding with your perfect life, something dark just took over,” she continued. “I didn’t want to hurt you, exactly. But I also couldn’t stand watching you move forward when I felt so stuck.”
She wiped her nose with a tissue Mom handed her. “I thought if I could just have one day where I was the special one, the important one, maybe I’d feel human again.”
“Stacey, why didn’t you tell us?” Dad asked.
“Because you’re all so proud of Emily. She’s got the great job, the loving fiancé, and the bright future. How could I admit that I was falling apart?”
It didn’t excuse what she did. Not even close. But it helped me understand that my sister wasn’t just being cruel.
She was drowning, and she’d grabbed onto the closest thing to try to save herself, even if it meant pulling me down with her.
“We’re going to get you help,” Mom said firmly. “Tomorrow. We’re going to find you a good therapist and figure this out together.”
And we did.
The very next week, Stacey started seeing Dr. Martinez, a therapist who specializes in depression and family issues. She’s been going regularly ever since.
It’s been almost a year now since my wedding day. Slowly, carefully, we’ve started healing as a family.
Stacey is doing better now.
She found a new job, she’s taking her medication, and she’s learning to ask for help when the dark thoughts come back. We talk on the phone twice a week now.
I know what happened at my wedding was awful, but I’m glad it helped make my sister’s life better. At least she doesn’t feel bad about herself now.
