truly want a marriage with her.
Perhaps he pitied her.
Perhaps my parents had pressured him.
Perhaps he had chosen the sister who adored him because the one he truly wanted had never spoken.
Every thought made me hate myself a little more.
The next morning, I smiled and helped Rosie create a wedding inspiration board.
“You’ll be my maid of honor,” she said.
“Of course.”
“Promise?”
I linked my little finger through hers.
“I promise.”
Part of me expected our parents to object.
They had always been overprotective of Rosie.
They questioned nearly every decision she made.
They monitored her friendships, finances, and appointments, often insisting they knew what was best for her.
Instead, they welcomed the engagement.
Mom cried.
Dad shook Ben’s hand.
“You chose well,” he told him.
The comment lodged painfully inside me.
At the time, I thought he meant Rosie had chosen a good man.
