I step into the banquet hall, a sea of over 300 elite guests. A staff member checks my invitation and points me toward Table 17, tucked away in a far, forgotten corner. I’m not surprised, but the gesture is a small, sharp knife in the heart. As I make my way to the table, I feel the curious, pitying glances. “That’s Will, the eldest Bradley son,” I hear a woman whisper. “Still in the military. Such a shame. With a mind like that, he could have done so much more.”

I pretend not to hear. I look toward the stage where Brian and his beautiful bride, Emily, are radiant. My father stands beside them, raising a glass, the picture of paternal pride. The entire hall revolves around them, the successful, the respected Bradleys. I take a sip of water, the bitterness in my throat a taste of memory.