Vanessa’s eyes widened in disbelief as the clerk handed back the card, shaking her head. My sister’s voice, usually so composed and poised, was now a frantic staccato. Her perfect world was crumbling, and with it, the illusion of a flawless day orchestrated with someone else’s resources.
I watched from the sidewalk, invisible, as the boutique’s atmosphere shifted from indulgent anticipation to palpable tension. The other brides and their entourages offered uncomfortable glances, whispering behind manicured hands. The dreamscape fantasy of white lace and promises was becoming a spectacle no one could look away from.
Inside, my mother finally intervened, her voice low but firm, trying to salvage the situation with the manager. She didn’t look out the window—didn’t search for me. How convenient it was to turn a blind eye to the one who had been holding everything together while they basked in the spotlight.
