We had a small wedding. Michael and I saved for it ourselves, refusing financial help from my parents since we knew it would come with strings attached. My family attended, but their displeasure was evident in their stiff smiles and minimal interaction with Michael’s side. My sister Rachel spent most of the reception texting, occasionally looking up to make a snarky comment about the modest venue or the simple catering. Jessica, my mate of honor and best friend since elementary school, seemed caught between worlds. She had always been close with both Rachel and me, but over the years, I noticed her gravitating more toward my sister. That day, she spent more time at Rachel’s table than beside me. Still, I was grateful she was there. One of the few connections to my childhood that remained intact.

Our marriage was everything I hoped for. We bought a small apartment, both working full-time, me as a marketing coordinator and Michael as a project engineer at a renewable energy firm. We traveled when we could afford it, explored the city on weekends, and spent quiet evenings planning our future. We wanted two children, a house with a yard, maybe a dog. Normal dreams that felt extraordinary because we would build them together.