A Full Circle

The toasts were underway at the reception when my husband, Reg, and I made our way to the head table, champagne flutes in hand.
His parents smiled, sharing heartfelt words that warmed me to my core. A soft, happy murmur rippled through the guests.
But when it was my mother’s turn, she set her glass down. Her eyes swept across our friends and family, and she sighed dramatically. “It’s a shame, really. If only this were Aria’s wedding today.”
A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table.
My father nudged her, a flicker of panic in his eyes. She seemed to snap back to reality, her gaze finally landing on me. “Oh, Claire is wonderful too, of course. Just a bit… dull. Always has been.”
In that moment, every eye in the room was on me.
All I could do was stand there, champagne flute held aloft, and force a smile that felt more painful than tears.

1
“That dress just doesn’t work.”
Standing before the full-length mirror, I felt my mother’s critical gaze rake over me.
The makeup artist, who was busy arranging the train of my gown, froze for a beat. She recovered quickly, trying to smooth things over. “It might just be her makeup, ma’am. We did it this morning to match her ceremony gown. Once I touch it up for the reception, the whole look will come together beautifully.”
“No, that’s not it,” my mother said, shaking her head with an air of absolute authority. “I mean the dress looks bad on her.”
She circled me like a predator, her hands gesturing wildly. “She’s too tall for a mermaid cut. It doesn’t flatter her at all.” Her voice grew brighter. “Now Aria, she has the perfect figure for it. A dress like this would look stunning on her.”
The makeup artist had no idea who ‘Aria’ was. She shot me a confused, sympathetic glance, clearly baffled as to why a mother would tear down her own daughter on her wedding day.
My fingers tightened on the delicate fabric of my skirt.
Honestly, I didn’t understand it either.
Why? Why on the most important day of my life, did she still have to tear me down just to build my sister up?
I opened my mouth to protest, to beg her to stop, but then I remembered the room full of guests just outside, and my mother’s temper—a powder keg waiting for a spark.
I swallowed the words and the bitterness that came with them.
On a day this beautiful, the last thing I wanted was for Reg’s family and our friends, who had traveled so far, to witness a screaming match between my mother and me.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes of pointed glaring, she grew bored and swept out of the dressing room.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The makeup artist did the same.
“Claire,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You look absolutely breathtaking in this dress. Our photographer was just telling me you’re a natural. He said every shot is perfect, you don’t even need to pose.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, managing a small, real smile. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better, and I was grateful for it.
The small incident was soon forgotten as the pivotal moment of the ceremony arrived.
On the stage, under the warm lights, Reg and I faced each other to exchange our rings.
A cheer went up from our guests as the cool metal slid onto my finger, a perfect, gleaming circle meant to seal our happiness.
Just then, my mother stepped forward, her voice cutting through the joyful noise. “You know, you’re a rather ugly crier.”
She didn’t stop there. “Not like your sister. Aria was always the pretty one, and today is no exception.”

2
A single tear escaped and traced a hot path down my cheek.
I stood frozen, staring at my mother in disbelief.
Reg was stunned, but he recovered in an instant. He grabbed my hand, raised it high, and shouted to the crowd, his voice ringing with love, “I love you, my wife!”
The opening chords of our song swelled through the speakers, bathing the entire venue in a wave of romance that pushed back against the ugliness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother shoot me a glare before sticking her tongue out, a childish, mocking gesture.
I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting to shove the hurt down. I pulled my lips into the biggest, brightest smile I could manage.
Nothing was going to ruin this day.
I repeated it to myself like a mantra. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it after the wedding.
But I underestimated her. My mother wasn’t going to let me have even one perfect day.
During the part of the reception for the parents’ speeches, Reg’s parents spoke with such sincerity that the room erupted in heartfelt applause.
When it was my father’s turn, he’d barely managed two sentences before my mother snatched the microphone from his hand.
She beamed at the audience. “Thank you all so much for coming today to celebrate my daughter’s wedding.”
I felt a sliver of relief. She was being… normal.
But after a few brief pleasantries, her tone shifted. She pivoted, making my younger sister the star of my wedding. “For those of you who don’t know, Aria is my youngest daughter. Claire’s little sister.”
She puffed out her chest, her face glowing with pride. “And she just opened a wonderful art gallery, right near this very hotel! It’s filled with the most incredible pieces, something for every taste. You should all stop by and have a look.”
Reg and I exchanged a nervous glance. I could see the same alarm in his eyes that I felt in my own chest.
I quickly moved toward the stage, intending to take back the microphone.
But as I got close, my mother shot out her hand and shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, nearly falling.
“What do you think you’re doing, grabbing the mic like that? Have you no manners? I’m not finished!”
My father waved me away, gesturing for me to just let her speak. Across the room, I could see Reg’s parents’ smiles had tightened, their faces hardening.
Trapped, and desperate to maintain some semblance of order, I retreated, forced to listen.
“Aria has always been such a lively, considerate child,” my mother gushed on. “She opened her gallery so close to home specifically to take care of her father and me. That girl’s heart is pure gold.”
She rambled on, sharing one cutesy story after another from Aria’s childhood. The guests sat in polite, stony silence, but she didn’t seem to notice, giggling to herself as she continued her one-woman show.
Finally, the wedding planner, her brow furrowed in frustration, approached the stage. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “this is Claire’s wedding. Perhaps you could say a few words about Claire?”
My mother looked put out, but she reluctantly changed the subject. “Her? Oh, she was always so boring. Such a gloomy, withdrawn child. Honestly, if she hadn’t gotten into a good college, I doubt anyone would have ever paid her any mind.”
The words landed, and the entire room fell dead silent.

3
Every single guest turned to look at me.
In that instant, the dam of my composure broke. A tidal wave of humiliation and fury surged through me, so powerful I thought I might actually explode.
Reg’s hand found mine, his fingers gently tapping against my palm.
“I’ll talk to her,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”
I nodded, blinking back a fresh flood of tears.
Reg signaled to the planner, who retrieved the microphone. He leaned in and spoke quietly into my mother’s ear.
She pouted, seeming to finally grasp that her behavior was wildly inappropriate, and fell silent.
The rest of the wedding passed in a blur, the planner expertly guiding us through the remaining schedule.
After making the rounds and toasting with our guests, I was physically and emotionally drained. I hadn’t eaten a bite. I told Reg I needed to slip away to the dressing room for a moment.
He offered to come with me, but many of his friends had flown in from across the country to celebrate with us. I didn't want to drag him away from them. I insisted he stay.
As I reached the dressing room door, I heard familiar voices from inside. I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob.
“Mom, this is Claire’s bridal jewelry set. I really shouldn’t…”
“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s hers is yours. This bracelet was made for you. And look at this necklace! It’s perfect for you, with your elegant swan neck.” A pause. “Your sister’s neck is so thick and short. It would just look clumsy on her.”
My whole body started to shake.
I threw the door open. The scene that greeted me was my mother, a wide smile on her face, fastening my diamond necklace around my sister’s neck. My brand new wedding jewelry.
“Claire!” Aria jumped, startled. Her smile vanished, replaced by a flush of guilt. “I—I just thought your necklace was pretty, so I was looking at it. Don’t get the wrong idea!”
“What wrong idea could there be?” my mother snapped, physically stopping Aria from unclasping the necklace. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Getting married is one thing, but this whole five-piece jewelry set is just wasteful. A wedding band is plenty.”
Her eyes narrowed. “This extra necklace and bracelet suit your sister perfectly. I think she should have them. They look much better on her anyway.”
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the velvet jewelry box and started shoving the remaining pieces into Aria’s handbag.
The rage that had been simmering inside me finally boiled over. Words tumbled out of my mouth, fast and sharp. “Mom! In your world, is there a single good thing that doesn’t belong exclusively to Aria?”
“You don’t care who anything belongs to, do you? My wedding dress, my bridal jewelry, even a stupid tube of lipstick I own—you’d rip it all away from me just to hand it to her, wouldn’t you?!”
My outburst stunned them both into silence.
But my mother recovered quickly. Her brows drew together, her eyes locking onto mine with pure venom.
“Aria is your sister! Shouldn’t she be able to use your things?” she shrieked, advancing on me. Her voice echoed in the small room, a hysterical, wounded cry. “Do you have to be so selfish?”

4
Selfish?
My nails dug so deep into my palms I was sure I’d drawn blood.
If I was angry before, now I was drowning in a sea of utter despair.
For as long as I can remember, the word ‘selfish’ has been my shadow.
When we were kids, if Aria cried because she lost a toy to another child, and I couldn’t console her, my mother called me selfish for not protecting her. When I tried to teach her to write, and she threw a tantrum because she wanted to play outside, I was selfish for not controlling her.
In middle school, I was always one of the top students. My good grades made Aria moody and sullen. It was her jealousy, plain and simple, but my mother still called me selfish for not considering my sister’s feelings, for stressing her out.
Later, when Reg and I started dating, we were all having dinner. I cooked, but I forgot to make Aria’s favorite garlic shrimp. She pouted and refused to eat a single bite, no matter how my father coaxed her. And again, my mother accused me of being selfish, this time for neglecting my sister’s health.
Year after year, I’ve been buried under the weight of these baseless accusations.
It’s not that I never fought back. But every attempt to defend myself was dismissed as an excuse, a lie.
No matter who was at fault, my mother always, always took Aria’s side. She saw the world only through Aria’s eyes.
It was as if Aria was her real daughter, and I was just some stray she’d been forced to take in.
Her voice was shrill now, her face contorted with rage as she pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’ve been this way since you were a child! Cold, secretive, hoarding every little thing for yourself. You never share. I should have known you’d never change. You’re just a bitter, selfish…”

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