The morning before my sister’s wedding, our driver suddenly lowered his voice and said, “Lie down on the back seat and cover yourself with a blanket. You need to hear this.” I refused at first, but he insisted, “Trust me.” Half an hour later, I heard Takeo…

The morning before my sister Emily’s wedding looked almost unreal—like a scene carefully arranged for a magazine cover. White roses climbed over every archway of the resort courtyard, stylists hurried past carrying makeup kits, and the air smelled faintly of espresso, hairspray, and fresh linen.
I felt like my nerves were barely holding together.

I stood outside the resort entrance in a satin robe, gripping a garment bag as if it were an anchor. My phone buzzed again with another message from my mother.

Hair at 8. Photos at 10.
Please don’t make this difficult.

I exhaled slowly and slid into the back seat of the black SUV waiting by the curb.