I’ve never been the kind of person to hold a grudge.
But I will never forgive Claire for what she did to me.
When my brother, Liam, got engaged, I was happy for him. Claire had always been… difficult. Every conversation with her felt like a game I didn’t know I was playing. Still, Liam adored her, and that was enough for me.
So when she asked me to help plan their wedding, I agreed. Not for her. For my brother.
I designed the invitations, booked the vendors, and coordinated the venue. I even paid for the catering and spent weeks baking the perfect wedding cake. Every detail, every choice—I poured myself into their day.
And I had no idea what Claire had planned behind my back.
The cake had to be perfect. I stared at the sketches in front of me, my pencil hovering over the page. Vanilla? Too boring. Red velvet? Claire hated it.
My fingers twitched as I scribbled down the only choice that felt right.
Chocolate-peanut butter.
It was Liam’s favorite.
As kids, we used to sit on the kitchen floor, licking chocolate frosting off the beaters while Mom made chocolate-peanut butter cupcakes for every big event—birthdays, soccer games, even the time he got a participation trophy in third grade.
“Best flavor in the world,” he used to say, licking frosting off his fingers.
Claire would probably want something fancy and overpriced, something trendy with sugared roses. But I wanted Liam to taste something familiar. Something that felt like home.
I pressed my pen into the paper, finalizing the choice. Then I exhaled, stretching my fingers, reminding myself why I was doing this.
The morning of the wedding, I stood in the venue’s kitchen, carefully piping the final details onto the cake. Laughter spilled in from the grand hall as guests arrived, filling the space with energy.
Then, my mom stormed in, her face pale with anger.
“Sweetheart,” she hesitated, gripping the counter. “You’re not on the guest list.”
I let out a small laugh. “What? That’s ridiculous. I’m literally holding their wedding cake.”
Mom didn’t smile. “Claire’s mother is checking the list. She says you’re not invited. And she won’t let you in.”
Mom clenched her jaw. “She refuses to explain.”
A ringing filled my ears. I had spent months helping Claire plan this wedding. And she didn’t even have the decency to tell me herself?
Mom was already marching off to find Liam. I wiped my hands clean, pulled off my apron, and walked out the side exit.
I had never felt so betrayed.
Mom caught Liam just before the ceremony. He was adjusting his tie, smiling, completely unaware.
Liam froze. His smile vanished. “Wait. What? Why?”
“She won’t say. But she’s making sure Dahlia isn’t allowed inside.”
Liam’s face darkened. Without hesitation, he turned and stormed toward Claire.
She was with her bridesmaids, basking in compliments, glowing in her lace-covered gown.
“Claire,” Liam said, his voice like ice. “Did you seriously not invite my sister?”
She barely looked up. “Ugh, babe. Not now. Can we not do this on our wedding day?”
Claire sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Look, she helped us. So what? That was her gift to us. And honestly, it’s her job, too.”
Liam stared at her in disbelief. “She paid for the food, Claire. She spent days baking the cake. And you just—what? Pretended she didn’t exist?”
Claire let out an exasperated huff. “Fine. You wanna know the reason? I didn’t want divorced people at our wedding. It’s bad energy, especially for the bride! I don’t want that kind of luck in our marriage!”
Liam’s jaw clenched. “So you excluded my sister because she got a divorce?”
Liam’s hands fisted at his sides, his entire body rigid with anger.
“Marriages don’t fail because of ‘bad vibes,’ Claire. They fail because of selfish, cruel behavior. Like this.”
Claire’s smug expression faltered. “Liam, don’t be dramatic.”
Liam wasn’t listening anymore. He turned on his heel and walked straight to the catering table.
Gasps filled the room as he grabbed the wedding cake. No one dared stop him.
I was already home, curled up on the couch in stunned silence, when the doorbell rang.
I opened it to find Liam standing there, still in his suit, holding the wedding cake. His face was a mix of exhaustion and something heavier.
“I’m sorry you wasted your time and money on that wedding,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll make her compensate you. But more than that…”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “Thank you. Because without you, I might never have seen Claire for who she really is.”
My throat tightened. Liam had always been my big brother. The one who looked out for me. And today, when it really mattered… he chose me.
I stepped aside, and he walked in, setting the cake down on my coffee table.
Then Liam let out a breathless laugh. “You know, I haven’t eaten all day.”
I grabbed two forks. “Then let’s fix that.”
We sat on the floor, still in formal clothes, digging straight into the wedding cake like a couple of sugar-starved kids.
Liam took one bite, then froze. His eyes flicked to mine, a soft, almost broken sound escaping his throat. “Chocolate-peanut butter.”
“Yeah.”
He stared at his fork, shaking his head. “You made this for me.”
“Of course, I did, Liam.”
Liam pressed his lips together, nodding slowly. He took another bite, chewing carefully, like he was tasting more than just cake.
Like he was remembering home.
“You know,” he exhaled, “if this was the wedding cake, I guess that means I got the best part of today.”
I blinked. He exhaled.
“I walked away from someone who didn’t respect me. From a future that would have been miserable.”
He looked at me then, voice quiet but sure.
“But I still have you.”
“Always,” I whispered.
Days later, I was in my office, working on a new cake design when there was a knock at the door. I sighed, already tired. “Come in.”
The door creaked open.
Claire.
She looked… different. Not polished. Not smug. Just pale, uneasy, carrying the kind of sadness that weighed down her shoulders.
I didn’t stand. I didn’t offer her a seat.
“Hey.”
“You lost?” I raised an eyebrow.
She flinched. “Liam won’t talk to me. I ruined everything.”
She swallowed. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I wanted to—”
“Stop.” My voice was flat. “You don’t get to want anything from me, Claire.”
She hesitated. Then nodded and turned to go.
She paused, hand on the handle.
“I really am sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
And a moment later, she was gone.
