The photographer was snapping photos, telling everyone where to stand. I was next to Caleb, gripping my bouquet, when Bridget gently tugged my arm.

“Honey, could you step out for a moment?” she murmured. “We need one with just the core family.”

I blinked. “But… I’m the bride.”

“Of course, and you’ll get your bride photos later. This is just a little family tradition. You get it.”

Caleb gave a small shrug. I froze, then stepped back, heels digging into the grass.

Later, I saw that photo framed in their living room. I wasn’t in it.

That was just the beginning.

After the wedding, things got worse. Cookouts, game nights, birthdays—I was always left out.

Caleb would come home with tales about his uncle’s goofy singing or how Lauren’s daughter made cupcakes that tasted like glue.