Dear Diary,

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so invisible. I walked into the wedding with a box, telling people I was the bride’s sister. That should mean something, right?

It didn’t.

I kept circling the tables, reading names over and over, convinced I’d missed mine. I hadn’t. There just wasn’t a seat for me. So I landed at the cousins’ table and pretended I wasn’t snubbed.

Kari looked beautiful. I hate that it’s true, but it is. Watching her walk down the aisle, glowing, I felt proud… and a bit guilty for ever thinking ill of her.

Then I saw the front row. Three empty chairs! Three! But not one of them for me. That’s when it settled in… this wasn’t an accident.

So I drank. Just enough to smooth the edges. Enough to sit through photos I wasn’t invited to stand in and to pretend it didn’t matter. Dinner helped. Small, normal things usually do.

Then Dad gave his speech.

Everyone laughed. He was charming, warm, and characteristically flawless.
Until he talked about not being a grandfather yet. Like I don’t have kids. Like they don’t exist! I just sat there, trying not to break while the room kept laughing.

Later, he pulled me into the dance, needing me, even thanking me! For a fleeting moment, I felt seen. Like maybe I mattered after all?

But it didn’t last. It never does. I spent the whole night trying to find a place in a family that keeps proving I don’t have one.

And the worst part?

I think I knew that before I even walked in.

—Bri

This diary entry was written by fictional character Bri Brigg
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