Easy.
That word haunted me.
It was easier for Ivy not to explain me than to actually know me.
Easier for my parents to judge what was visible than ask what existed underneath.
Easier for Logan to assume that wealth wore a suit and confidence announced itself loudly.
Easy had built this entire disaster.
A few days later, I got another gift.
An email from the wedding planner titled Final Guest Roles and Rehearsal Itinerary.
Attached was a PDF.
I opened it.
Under wedding party, my name was nowhere. Not groomsman, not family toast, not escort, not special acknowledgment. Under seating, I was placed at Table 17 with a mix of distant acquaintances, college friends of the bride, and two neighbors from Logan’s parents’ street I had never met in my life.
