My name is Marina. I’m 29 years old. I’m Anya’s older sister — the one who was always held up as an example to her in childhood. Until one day, I simply stopped being noticed as soon as the younger sister was born: bright, loud, irresistible.
Anya always knew how to be the center of attention. Her presence seemed to make the world stop. And me… I was just there. A quiet, unnoticed shadow. Convenient. Too soft to say “no.”
When I received the invitation to her wedding, my heart clenched. I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to see her in a white dress, hear that familiar laughter, and end up playing the victim again. But Mom insisted:
— You have to be there, Marina. After all, you’re family.
The word “family” hurt. More than I expected.
