Prologue

Mom: Vanessa Claire Caldwell where are you? Come to the bridal suite now!

Rolling my eyes at my mother's summons, I take a swig from the flask of bourbon tucked in my clutch—a little liquid courage borrowed from Grandpa's cabinet. The warmth of the liquor contrasts sharply with the cool indifference I feel. Tucking the flask back into my clutch, I pop a mint and glance up at the guy I've been kissing for the past half hour. His name? No idea, but he's cute and here—that's enough for me.

"Just the mother of the bride doing her best wicked-witch impression," I sigh, adjusting the dark-purple dress that feels more like a statement than attire. "How long are you sticking around?"

"Till the end. I'm driving the newlyweds to their party," he says with a nonchalant shrug.

"Ah," I grin, feeling a playful plan brewing. "I'll be right back then."

Taking a deep breath, I slip out the side door of the church, only to find my mother, a picture of pastel perfection, pacing. Her blonde hair, the sole feature I inherited, is wound tight in a bun, mirroring her current state.

"Vanessa!" she exclaims, her face a canvas of exasperation, lips pursed, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. "What on earth are you wearing?"

I thought the silky purple dress with its subtle skull-patterned lace was a decent effort. "It's just a dress, Mom. Chill. It's not like I'm a bridesmaid or anything."

That last part stings a bit. Lily, always distant, chose four strangers over her own sister. The "accidental" kid, ten years late and a constant reminder of a contraceptive mishap. I've always felt it, the slight disconnect, not just from Lily but from our parents too.

"Is this about you not being a bridesmaid? Are you trying to ruin your sister's wedding?" She points accusingly at my dress. "If you were less controversial and difficult, maybe y—" As my mother turns her back, her tirade continues. I lose the thread as her lips disappear from view. It's a familiar frustration, voices slipping into silence when faces turn away. Yes, mother dearest, who cared more about gaining sympathy from her Bible group than truly connecting with her deaf daughter.

She spins back, eyes shooting daggers. "Are we clear?"

Are we ever?I think, but just roll my eyes instead. "You know, if my presence is such a nuisance, you didn't have to invite me." I throw the words like darts, half expecting a placating response. But I should've known better.

"And have people question why the younger sister isn't at the wedding?" She scoffs. "Absolutely not."

I restrain another eye roll, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between us. "Why did you summon me, Mother?" I ask, bracing myself for the usual lecture.

"Just behave, Vanessa. That's all I ask," she replies with a sigh, her gaze heavy with unspoken reproaches.

"I'll be the picture of grace," I promise, the words dripping with sarcasm.

As I turn to leave, Lily strides into the bridal room, a vision in white, flanked by her bridesmaids. As her eyes meet mine, a coldness passes between us. "Try not to embarrass us, Vanessa," she says, her words a cutting whisper lost in the wedding bustle. I flash a fake smile, the sting of her words like a slap. I can't stand the suffocating air of judgment anymore, and a wave of defiance washes over me as I exit the room. I'm tired of being the disappointment, the outcast. If they want a spectacle, I'll give them one. It's time to break free, even if just for a moment.

"Needed more of this," I say, taking another gulp from the flask. The bourbon burns pleasantly, dulling the edges of reality.

In a moment of reckless daring, fueled by the bourbon's warmth and the day's frustrations, I go back to the hormonal limo driver.

As soon as I see him, I grin with a mischievous glint in my eyes. "Let's take this limo for a spin during the ceremony," I challenge, my voice laced with a blend of excitement and dare.

He hesitates, his gaze shifting uneasily between me and the church. The uncertainty in his eyes is clear, a storm of doubt and temptation. "I don't know, Nessa…" he starts, his voice trailing off, revealing his internal conflict.

A playful smile dances on my lips as I lean closer, sensing his resolve wavering. "What's life without a little adventure?" I tease, my voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Imagine the stories we could tell, the thrill of breaking free, just for a moment."

He looks at me, torn. The idea is evidently tempting him, but apprehension still holds him back. "But the ceremony… and your family," he protests weakly, his eyes betraying a desire to give in.

"Oh, forget my family for a while," I urge, letting my hand rest lightly on his arm. "When was the last time you did something just because it felt exhilarating? Because it made you feel alive?"

My words seem to hang in the air between us, an invitation to a world without rules, if only for an hour. I watch as a rebellious spark lights up in his eyes, a mirror of my own impulsive spirit.

"Alright," he concedes with nervousness, "but just around the block, okay?"

"Deal," I say, my heart racing with anticipation.

I slide into the driver's seat, the leather cool against my skin, my heart pounding with fear and exhilaration. As I press down on the accelerator, the limo leaps forward, the powerful engine roaring to life. The world outside becomes a blur, the colors and shapes merging into an indistinct whirlwind as we speed away from the church, from responsibility, from reality.

For a moment, I am untethered, liberated from the weight of expectations and judgments. But the thrill is devastatingly short-lived. As the world tilts into madness, the limo veering off, I can't help a twisted grin. Always the dramatic exit, huh, Nessa? I think to myself, even as panic gnaws at me. My hands grip the wheel tighter, fear slicing through the adrenaline haze. We're careening, unstoppable, a force of nature in its own right until the inevitable crash shatters the air. The limo collides with the side of the church—a crash vibration echoes through my bones like thunder. Stunned, I let out a breathy "Oops…" an absurd understatement as I stare at the chaos I've unleashed.

The air is thick with the scent of burned rubber and fear. Then, as if awakened by the crash, the church doors burst open, and a wave of wedding guests, led by my family, pours out to witness the disaster. Lily, in her pristine wedding gown, stands frozen, her tears carving clean trails down her makeup-stained face. The sight of her, so vulnerable, so hurt, is a stark contrast to the glares I receive from our parents. Their looks are like daggers, sharp and piercing, aiming straight for my heart.

"Why do you always have to spoil everything, Vanessa?" Her scowl is sharp and accusing, echoing years of disappointment. "Why must you make our lives so much more difficult?"

In the wreckage of the limo, I'm engulfed by the shattered fragments of my family's expectations, grappling with the consequences of my actions. Their stares suffocate me, a tangible reminder of the deep chasm between us. Compassion was a language they never spoke, at least not to me. Their love, always conditional and just out of reach, made it clear—forgiveness was something I was never going to receive. As I stand amid the ruin I've caused, it's painfully clear—their understanding, their empathy, was something I was never going to have.