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Instead, when the second Sarah and her daughters crossed the threshold, it was war. Sarah looked at me like I was competition, like a seven-year-old grieving girl was somehow a threat to her perfect new life.

She didn’t want to share my father; she wanted to erase any trace of the family that came before her. And she succeeded. She severed every thread connecting me to him.

Whenever I tried to tell Dad what was happening, the way Sharon and her sister would “borrow” my things and never return them, the way Sarah would give me extra chores while her girls lounged around, the way they’d mock me for still crying for Mom sometimes.

He’d just sigh. “Rosie, you’re being dramatic. Sarah’s trying to make this family work. Don’t tear us apart.” They called me a liar. A troublemaker. A jealous little girl who couldn’t handle sharing. And Dad, enamored, blind, desperate to keep the peace with his shiny new wife, let them get away with it.

By the time I was twelve, I was basically the unpaid maid of my own house. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming, running errands, while Sharon and her sister got allowances, new clothes, and praise for doing nothing. I learned early that speaking up only made it worse. So I stopped speaking. I kept my head down. I counted the days until I could leave.

I blink hard, shoving the memories back down where they belong. The past.

“Hey.”

My colleague, Jenna, appears at my side, arms crossed. “I cannot wait for this weekend to be over,” she mutters.

“Tell me about it,” I say, voice flat.

“There are bridezillas, and then there’s Sharon. She’s in a league of her own. I’ve done celebrity weddings with less drama.”

I let out a tired huff of a laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

As if summoned by the sheer mention of her name, the doors swing open.

Sharon struts in clutching a limited-edition designer bag, wearing a slinky blue dress that would be stunning on anyone. But on her, it hangs like it’s trying to escape. She’s all sharp angles and collarbones these days, skin stretched tight over bones because she’s convinced that “every girl should be skinny.” She’s anorexic as it is.

Jenna leans in, voice low. “Speak of the witch.”

Then she melts away into the crowd of staff like she was never here, leaving me alone to face the incoming storm.

Sharon’s eyes scan the room, land on me, and her mouth curves into that familiar, razor-thin smile. The same one she wore six months ago when I caught her in Luke’s bed.

The message is written all over her victorious little smirk: Look what I took. Look what I kept. Look how much better I look doing it.

“Why are you idling around?” she snaps. “I’m not paying you to stand there looking pretty.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I plaster on my best customer-service smile and say, “Hello to you too, Sharon. Everything’s set. Rehearsal dinner begins in twenty minutes. We’re good to go.”

She huffs, scanning the room like she’s auditioning for a detective role. Her gaze lands on the tall floral arrangements flanking the head table, cascading white roses, and eucalyptus spilling over crystal vases.

She snaps her fingers like I’m a dog. “What’s that?”

I follow her pointing finger. “The floral centerpieces for the head table?”

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” I say calmly. “You approved the mood board with these exact blooms and colors three weeks ago. I have the signed proof-of-concept sheet if you’d like to see it.”

Her eyes flash. “Are you trying to say I’m lying?”

I don’t answer. There’s no point. She’s already turning on her heels. “I’m going to talk to your supervisor. Make sure you get fired. This is unacceptable.”

She stalks off toward the back of the room, where the rest of the team is stationed. I let out a slow breath. Fired? Please. My supervisor knows exactly who Sharon is. This isn’t my first rodeo with a bridezilla who thinks screaming equals service.

Before I can even straighten the already-perfect place card in front of me, the doors open again.

Sarah sweeps in. Stella, younger daughter number two, trails behind her, wearing a smug little smirk. They both stop directly in front of me, blocking my path.

Sarah tilts her head, giving me that same condescending once-over. “I hope you’ve made sure everything is exactly as we demanded.”