The wide, perfectly groomed lawns of the Hawthorne Country Club glowed under the soft gold light of a late summer evening, where crystal chandeliers had been hung from towering oak branches, casting a dreamy, expensive shimmer across the wedding reception of my younger sister, Madison.
A scene so polished and carefully curated it felt like something out of a luxury magazine, the kind of world my family had spent decades desperately trying to belong to, chasing status, approval, and appearances above all else.
And yet, despite all that glittering perfection, I was seated at Table 19.
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