I used to dream about weddings—not fairytales, just being there for my siblings. But every single one of them left me out.

At ten: “You’re too young.” At fifteen: “It wouldn’t be fair to the other kids.” At seventeen: I stopped asking.

When I planned my wedding, I made a choice: they weren’t invited.

“Are you sure?” Rowan, my fiancé, asked.

“Yes. Actions have consequences.”

The backlash came fast. My family stormed in, demanding answers.

“Why weren’t we invited?” Oak asked.

I crossed my arms. “You didn’t want me at yours. I don’t want you at mine.”

Silence. Then Ivy: “We were protecting you.”

“From what? Loving you? Being part of your happiness?”

Mom’s voice shook. “This is cruel. I want all my kids together.”

“Funny,” I said. “You didn’t care when I was left out.”

Then Oak sighed. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Ivy hesitated. “Lena… you’re not our sister. You’re our cousin. Our parents took you in when your father died.”

The world spun. Years of trying to belong—wasted.

I walked for hours before ending up at Rowan’s. He sat beside me on the curb, silent but solid.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” I whispered.

“You belong with me.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t want a wedding anymore. I just want us.”

“Then let’s elope.”

The courthouse was quiet, simple, perfect. No forced smiles, no pretending—just us.

When Rowan kissed me, everything felt right.

For the first time, I chose myself. And it was the best choice I ever made.