On our wedding day, everything seemed perfect, like something straight out of a fairytale. The sky was a brilliant blue, with just a gentle breeze rolling off the river. The smell of fresh grass and wildflowers filled the air, and everything felt magical.
I stood by the barn, watching as the bridal party walked out in their stunning dresses, their laughter filling the air. The photographer was already capturing every beautiful moment. The girls were excited, hugging each other, laughing, and spinning around in their gorgeous dresses. But in the middle of it all, my sister-in-law Jenna looked like she was trying to ruin the whole thing.
She dragged her feet as she walked, like she couldn’t even be bothered to enjoy the day. She squinted at the sun as if it had done something personal to her, tugging her dress down at the hips. “It’s too hot,” she grumbled under her breath.
As we moved to take more pictures, she kept complaining. A few moments later, she muttered, “This dress is clinging in weird places,” and pulled at the fabric.
The photographer called us all to gather for some group shots, and as Jenna adjusted her hair in a car window’s reflection, she scowled. “Great. I look like I stuck my finger in an outlet.”
Nina, my beautiful bride, noticed her sister’s mood and walked over with a gentle smile. She brushed a stray strand of hair from Jenna’s face and handed her a water bottle. “Here, Jen, take a sip. You’ll feel better.”
But Jenna didn’t even acknowledge it. She just stared at the bottle like it was an insult.
I knew Jenna had mood swings, but seeing it on our wedding day was a whole different experience. Nina had warned me, whispering earlier, “She’s just nervous. Big crowds make her anxious.”
I gave her a comforting squeeze. “But this is a small group. It’s only thirty people.”
Nina just sighed, trying to brush it off.
We all moved into the beautiful golden fields surrounding the venue. The photographer, Melissa, was snapping shots as the bridal party posed and laughed. Everyone was having fun, except for Jenna, who always found a way to stand off to the side, like she didn’t want to be part of anything.
“Let’s get the sisters together!” Melissa called out cheerfully. “Nina and Jenna, come over here for a moment.”
Nina smiled brightly and stepped toward her sister. But Jenna’s smile was barely there, more like a tight, forced grimace.
“Put your arm around her waist, Jenna,” Melissa encouraged, trying to get a good shot. But Jenna looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
The camera flashed, and we caught Jenna in mid-eye-roll. In the next shot, she was sporting a fake smile that didn’t fool anyone. By the third shot, she was sneering.
Nina, on the other hand, kept smiling, pretending like everything was fine, trying to make the best of the moment. I called out, “You both look gorgeous!” and Nina blew me a kiss.
But I saw Jenna mutter something under her breath that I couldn’t catch, and I could see Nina’s face shift slightly, hurt flashing in her eyes.
The day carried on beautifully despite the cloud that was Jenna. Nina was radiant as she walked down the aisle, her eyes glistening with tears as she said her vows. I held her hand tightly, knowing she was my world. We danced under a canopy of fairy lights, the sun setting in the distance, and even Jenna seemed to loosen up after a few drinks.
That night, as we lay in our hotel room, Nina curled into me and whispered, “Thank you for being so patient today.”
I kissed her forehead. “Nothing could ruin today. Not even Jenna.”
Nina sighed softly. “She tries, you know. In her own way.”
I didn’t say anything, because honestly, if that was Jenna trying, then I’d hate to see her not trying at all.
Three weeks later, we finally received the photos from the wedding. Nina and I sat on the couch, the laptop open between us as we scrolled through the gallery. We laughed and gasped at all the beautiful moments—sun-soaked pictures, confetti falling like snow, our friends and family gathered around us.
“Oh, look at this one!” Nina exclaimed, pointing to a shot of us surrounded by our friends with confetti flying around. “We have to frame this for the living room!”
“Absolutely,” I said, making a note of the photo number.
As we went through the gallery, we both noticed how many stunning shots we had. It was everything we had dreamed of. Nina grabbed her phone and sent the link to the bridal party, including Jenna, with a message about posting some of the pictures online.
Before we could even finish our wine, Nina’s phone rang. It was Jenna.
“Hey, Jen! Did you see the photos? They look amazing, right?” Nina answered cheerfully.
Jenna’s voice screamed through the phone, her anger clear. “YOU LET THE PHOTOGRAPHER CAPTURE ME LOOKING LIKE THIS?! I LOOK LIKE I JUST CRAWLED OUT OF A DRAIN!”
Nina’s smile faltered, but she tried to stay calm. “What are you talking about? You looked beautiful, just like everyone else.”
Jenna was furious. “Are you blind? My hair’s frizzy, my dress makes me look fat, and in half the pictures, I’m squinting like I’ve never seen sunlight before!”
“It was really bright out, Jen,” Nina said, her voice soft.
“NOT LIKE ME! DELETE EVERY PHOTO I’M IN, IMMEDIATELY! IF YOU POST EVEN ONE, I SWEAR I’LL NEVER SPEAK TO EITHER OF YOU AGAIN, AND I’LL BLAST YOU BOTH ONLINE. I MEAN IT!”
The call ended abruptly.
Nina sat there, frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. When she finally lowered it, I saw the tears welling in her eyes.
“She always does this,” Nina whispered, her voice trembling. “Every time I think we’re making progress with her.”
I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “She made our wedding day about her, and now she’s doing the same with the photos. She’s in almost every one!”
Nina leaned into me, sighing. “I just wanted her to feel included. I asked her to be a bridesmaid because… well, she’s still my sister.”
The silence that followed felt thick, heavy.
Later that night, as Nina drifted off to sleep, I made a decision. If Jenna wanted to make herself an outsider, I’d respect her request.
I opened the laptop and started scrolling through the photos. Slowly, I cropped Jenna out of every single one. Every shot she was in, I made sure she was removed—since she was always on the edge of the group photos, it was easier than I expected.
When I was done, I posted the photos Nina and I loved most on Facebook. Since Jenna wasn’t in any of them, I figured she couldn’t complain.
I was wrong.
The next afternoon, my phone rang with a call from Jenna. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” she screamed. “YOU’RE ERASING ME FROM YOUR WEDDING? FROM THE FAMILY? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
I stayed calm. “You told us not to post any photos with you in them. So I respected that. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is you took me OUT of the pictures instead of just not using them!” Jenna was practically shouting.
“Those were our wedding photos, Jenna. We wanted to share them.”
“So you just cut me out? Like I wasn’t even there?”
“You didn’t want to be in them. I respected your wishes.”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT!”
“Well, Jenna, that’s exactly what you said. And thanks to Photoshop, you aren’t in any of them.”
I could hear her breath catch like she was about to explode again, but then there was silence. She had hung up.
Later that evening, I told Nina what happened. I thought she might be upset with me, but instead, she sat down on the couch and started laughing. But it wasn’t a happy laugh—it was a surprised one. Almost relieved.
“You actually did it,” she said, shaking her head. “You stood up to her.”
“I didn’t want to overstep,” I said quietly.
Nina looked at me and squeezed my hand. “No. Don’t apologize. Maybe this is what needed to happen.”
Over the next few days, we got a flood of texts and calls from Jenna (all to Nina, not me), as well as messages from Nina’s parents and some cousins. Jenna wouldn’t speak to either of us. Her family sent guilt-laced messages about “family harmony” and “being the bigger person.”
Nina listened to everything, responding politely but standing firm. And as the days went on, I saw her stand taller, more confident, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
One evening, while we folded laundry together, Nina broke the silence.
“I should’ve stopped protecting her a long time ago.”
I stopped folding, looking at her. “What do you mean?”
“Jenna,” she said, folding a towel neatly. “I’ve been making excuses for her my whole life. Fixing the problems she causes. Smoothing things over.” She paused. “It’s exhausting.”
“You don’t have to do it anymore.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, soft but sure. “Thank you.”
And for the first time in a long time, we both felt like we could finally breathe again.
