I don’t know if this counts as a confession, really, but I feel like… I feel like I did something bad. Or at least, something I shouldn’t have. It’s my sister’s wedding, you know? Destination wedding, big deal, three days of smiling and photos and small talk with people I’ve never met before and will never see again. We’re all crammed into this suite, me and my niece and two cousins, and it’s just… a lot. Every single day, every day, it’s a performance. Especially for me, the older sister, the one who never… you know. I’m supposed to be happy for her, and I *am* happy for her, truly. She deserves it. But God, the pressure to be constantly ON, constantly cheerful, constantly answering questions about what I’m working on now, and oh, isn’t that interesting, you’re an artist. It’s always "an artist." Like it’s a cute little hobby. And last night, after the rehearsal dinner, after all the champagne and the terrible speeches and the forced laughter, I just… I needed a minute. Everyone else was still talking, still giggling about whatever, and I just felt this exhaustion deep in my bones. My hands were actually shaking a little. I slipped out, quietly, to the little balcony. It overlooks the ocean, which is beautiful, really, it is. And I just stood there for a bit, breathing, trying to get my head straight. And then I saw it. Her little wedding notebook. She’d left it on the patio table, just sitting there. She’s been writing in it for months, I know, all her plans and dreams, little sketches of flowers and everything. I picked it up. I just… I don’t know why I did it. I didn't mean to. I just flipped through a few pages. Her pretty handwriting, all her dreams for this perfect day. And then I saw it. A list of things she wanted for her new life. Kids, a house, a stable job for her husband. All the things… all the things I always wanted. All the things I never got because I was too busy chasing after something else, something that never quite panned out. And I just felt this… this burning. Not angry, not exactly. Just this hot, awful feeling. And I took her pen, a really nice one, silver, and I just… I drew over one of her little flower sketches. Nothing major, just a scribbled line right through the middle of it. A really dark, thick line. I don’t know if she’ll even notice. But I did it. And I feel like shit about it. I really do.