My sister thought wearing white to my wedding would make her the star of the day, until the pastor announced, “Your mother left something for you,” and handed her a sealed envelope—then he revealed the one condition Mom had written before she died, and my sister turned completely pale…

The ceremony didn't resume immediately. Pastor Reynolds wisely gave us a ten-minute recess to let the emotional tempest settle.

Back in the vestry room, the atmosphere was thick with residual awe and emotional exhaustion. Paige sat on a velvet-upholstered bench, a damp cloth clutched in her hand as she tried to salvage what was left of her makeup. Her white dress—still stunning, still perfectly tailored—no longer looked like a weapon. It looked like what it truly was: a gift from a mother who understood her children better than they understood themselves.

“I look like a raccoon,” Paige muttered, offering a weak, self-deprecating sniffle as she stared into the vanity mirror.

“A very stylish raccoon,” I said, handing her a fresh tissue from the box on the counter.

Paige took the tissue, dabbing at her eyes before looking up at me through the mirror. “Clara... I honestly thought you hated me. Especially after Mom died. I felt like you were moving on, building this perfect life with Ethan, while I was completely drowning.”

“I was drowning too, Paige,” I said softly, pulling up a chair beside her and taking her cold hand in mine. “I buried myself in wedding planning because I didn't know how to exist in a world without Mom. But I should have checked on you. I was so tired of fighting the competition between us that I built my own walls.”

Paige squeezed my hand back, her grip surprisingly firm. “It was a stupid competition. I was always so terrified that if you won, it meant I lost. Like love was a finite resource and you were taking all of it.”

“Mom had enough love for both of us,” I whispered. “She proved that today.”

A quiet knock sounded on the wooden door, and Ethan poked his head into the room.

“How are my two favorite women holding up?” he asked with a warm, reassuring smile.

“We’re surviving,” Paige said, offering a genuine, if slightly watery, smile. She stood up, smoothing the front of her controversial white dress. “Though I suppose I should probably go out there and face the music. Everyone in that chapel just watched me get emotionally dismantled by a dead woman's letter.”

“Actually,” Ethan chuckled, stepping fully into the room, “Aunt Marcus is currently crying into her third mimosa, and Uncle Greg is taking bets on whether you two are going to start a podcast about family trauma. The mood out there is remarkably supportive.”