I hesitated, then stepped back, heels sinking slightly into the grass.
Later, I found a printed copy of that picture framed in their living room. I wasn’t in it.
After the wedding, things didn’t change; if anything, they got worse. Barbecues, game nights, birthdays — I was always conveniently left out.
Jason would come home with a story about how funny his uncle’s karaoke had been or how Ivy’s daughter had baked cupcakes that tasted like Play-Doh.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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