The morning of my wedding, I arrived early to soak in the moment—only to find my sister, Jessica, standing at my altar in a wedding dress.

She smirked. “Surprise! Two weddings in one!”

Shock turned to fury. Jessica had always taken from me, but this? Unforgivable.

Keeping my voice steady, I turned to my wedding planner. “Bill her separately. Every cost—venue, catering, officiant.”

Jessica paled. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted a wedding. You have to pay for it,” I said.

Her fiancé, Ben, sighed. “Jess, you told me Gina agreed!”

Even our parents refused to defend her. Jessica screamed, demanding I “just share.” Ben shook his head. “I’m leaving.”

Security escorted her out, and my wedding went off beautifully. Later, my dad sighed, “Jessica called. She thinks we humiliated her.”

I scoffed. “She humiliated herself.”

That night, a desperate knock startled me. Jessica, disheveled, stood outside. “Ben left me. Mom and Dad won’t talk to me. I ruin everything.”

For the first time, she admitted she was lost. But I wasn’t there to fix her.

“Can we start over?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “No. You made your choices. Now live with them.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded and left.

I locked the door, made tea, and exhaled.

For the first time in my life, I felt free.