The morning of my wedding, I woke up thrilled—until I saw my dress was gone. Panic hit.
No one knew where it was, and my twin sister, Stacey, was missing. I had a terrible feeling this wasn’t a mistake.
Two hours later, Stacey walked into the church—wearing my dress. Gasps echoed as she stepped
onto the altar and said, “This day was supposed to be mine.” My heart sank. She didn’t want to ruin me—she wanted to feel seen.
My mom stood and spoke firmly: “I love you both, but you don’t hurt family to heal yourself.”
Stacey stepped down, silent. The ceremony continued, but something between us had fractured.
That night, Stacey returned with my dress in a garment bag and tears in her eyes. She confessed
to months of depression, job loss, and loneliness. Watching me move forward made her feel invisible.
Though the day marked the start of my marriage, it was also a turning point for Stacey. For the first time,
she asked for help—and we gave it. What began in pain ended with hope, and the chance to heal together.
