Chapter 1: The Altar Interruption
The scent of thousands of imported white roses hung heavy in the cathedral, sweet enough to make your stomach turn. Crystal chandeliers caught the afternoon sun, casting sharp prisms across polished marble floors where hundreds of high-society guests sat in absolute, breathless silence. Up at the altar stood Julian, my father, in a sharp black tuxedo that cost more than our entire rent for a year. Beside him stood Victoria, her blonde hair piled into an immaculate updo, her white strapless gown cascading in a dramatic train that swept the pristine white aisle runner. They looked like something off a billboard in Times Square. Perfect. Untouchable.
And then my little sister let out a ragged, breathless wail.
She was only one, wearing a cream-colored romper stained with yesterday's formula, and her cries echoed off the vaulted ceilings like a siren. I held her tighter against my chest, my arms trembling beneath her weight. My own dress, a dusty blue hand-me-down, was smudged with dirt from the subway stairs. My dark hair was tangled, and my face was wet with tears I had tried all morning to wipe away. But I couldn't stop them. Not when we had walked three miles through downtown Manhattan just to find the man on the glossy magazine covers who had promised us he was coming right back.
Victoria snapped first, her head whipping around like a striking snake. Her face twisted into an ugly, furious mask that the glossy wedding photographers failed to capture.
“Get that girl out of here!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the organ pipes like broken glass.
Nobody moved. The rows of tailored suits and silk dresses froze. I stood right in the center of the white aisle, my scuffed sneakers sinking softly into the heavy runner, my fingers locked around my sister's small back. I looked past Victoria’s shaking, bejeweled hand, straight into the face of the man who had kissed my forehead three weeks ago before packing his bags and walking out of our cramped kitchen in Queens.
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My voice came out small, shaking through the salt on my lips. “Daddy…”
Julian froze. The color drained from his sharp-jawed face until he looked like marble himself, his eyes widening in complete, unmasked horror. He didn't look at Victoria. He didn't look at the crowd of investors and society elites gasping behind us. He just stared at the two of us standing in the wreckage of his expensive illusion.
