At my brother Mike’s wedding rehearsal, his fiancée, Emily, raised her glass with a pointed smile. “Dress properly,” she said, eyeing our family. We laughed it off, wearing her colors and helping at the wedding. We flew in, followed her rules, but the photos and video excluded us, except for a brief clip of my dad’s grin. Emily’s family filled every frame, leaving us ghosts. I texted her, asking why. “The photographer didn’t save those,” she replied curtly. I didn’t push, but the wound stayed.
When I got engaged to Tom, we planned a tender wedding, omitting Emily to guard our peace. I told our videographer, Mia, to film Emily like a star, then cut her out, echoing her exclusion. At a family dinner, Emily assumed she was invited, citing her schedule. “It’s black tie,” I said, amused by her invite’s error—Emilee. Our wedding glowed with love and starlit dances. Mia focused on Emily, but her footage vanished from the final cut.
The teaser video, capturing our joy and family, left Emily out. She called, furious. “I was there! This is spiteful!” I held my coffee, saying, “Maybe the shots weren’t worth keeping, like you said.” At Thanksgiving, Emily wore a bridal-style dress, stealing attention. In the kitchen, she called me petty. “You erased us first,” I said. She confessed her messy family made her control her wedding to fit in. “You could’ve trusted us,” I replied. Her openness cracked our wall.
Emily sent a flash drive with her wedding’s unseen moments—me joking with Mike, dancing with my niece, fixing her veil. We were family. I got my wedding’s raw footage and invited Emily over. Over brownies and milk, we watched her smiling, calling me beautiful to Mike. We cried, apologized, and held hands. The unedited clips showed our shared heart, healing our divide. Emily’s honesty and my willingness to listen turned erasure into connection, proving family grows through truth, not rivalry.
