Wedding Inferno: It's Time for Remorse

I got a call from my brother, Ronald Samson, just 15 days before my cousin Brenda Larkin and my fiance Alan Godwin were set to be married.

The first thing out of his mouth was an accusation.

"Did you tell your friends to post all that trash under Brenda's social feed? I knew it. I was wondering why you'd been so quiet lately. Turns out you were waiting to pull this. Do you have any idea she cried because of those comments? Get over here and apologize to Brenda right now."

He had no idea my hand was shaking so badly I could barely keep hold of my phone. The wounds had gotten infected. Dozens of blisters all over my body had been lanced. Even after taking far too many painkillers, the pain was still unbearable.

I wanted to tell Ronald that I had no idea what he was talking about. I was in so much pain it felt like tens of thousands of ants were crawling over and biting into my skin. Before I could say anything, the call was already disconnected.

Just a moment ago, the pain had been so overwhelming that I almost forgot that the Ronald of today was no longer the same one who used to hold me and promise he would protect me for life.

He hadn't called to ask how I was doing. He only wanted to vent his anger on behalf of Brenda, whom he cherished above all else.

I let out a sigh, suppressing the pain as I tapped into Brenda's social feed. The most recent post was a photographer's shot of Brenda and Alan's backs.

She was wearing an extravagant wedding gown, while Alan was dressed in a tailored suit. They were holding hands, looking perfectly matched.

The caption read, "Stepping in for Anna at the wedding shoot. Yay or nay?"

At the top were comments from my parents and Ronald.

"Brenda, you look amazing. You two are a perfect match."

"Of course you look great! Brenda, you're our prettiest little princess."

"It's so nice that there's no one awkward in the way. You and Alan really are perfect together."

I looked at those comments without feeling a ripple of emotion. I had long since grown used to this.

To my family, I was merely the obstacle between Alan and Brenda. Even after seven years as Alan's official girlfriend, I was still the sinner in their eyes.

As I scrolled down, a few messages from my friends caught my eye. They were defending me.

"Oh sure, Brenda and Alan look amazing together—if you're into disasters. Marriage? No thanks."

"Every time I check my feed, it's just unlucky stuff. I'm so over it."

Strangely, those comments made me want to cry.

It was as if my numb heart had been struck, sending trembling, aching waves through me. I stared at the ceiling, swallowing back the tears.

After opening each chat window to thank my friends, I tapped into the family group chat that I had pinned to the top. They were in the middle of an animated discussion about the wedding decorations.

I let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. I had handled every detail of the wedding, and yet the fire had destroyed it all.

Once everything was set, Brenda had only said it looked too plain and that she wanted something more dreamy. That was when Alan contacted the wedding planner for the first time.

Next to the crystal decorations I had carefully designed, they added a large number of pink feathers that clashed horribly with everything else.

The fire had spread so badly largely because of those pink feathers. However, my family and my fiance completely forgot that it had been Brenda's suggestion and pinned all the blame on me instead.

In that group chat, the five of them were using matching cartoon avatars.

Brenda was the adored little princess, my parents and Ronald were the king, queen, and prince. My fiance, Alan, used a knight avatar that was clearly a couple set with the princess.

He used to tell me he couldn't use childish couple icons because too many supervisors were on his WhatsApp. Perhaps his rules changed once Brenda came into the picture.

I stared at those five matching avatars for a long time before finally sending a message. "The photos look nice. I don't know anything about the comments. Sorry."

My appearance caused the group, which had been buzzing with conversation, to fall completely silent.

After a few minutes, Brenda finally broke the silence with a fake-sweet message. "It's fine, Anna. I don't blame you."