I laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking, girl? I’m your father’s wife now. Wearing my dress honors me.”
My stomach dropped. She was four sizes bigger than me. More importantly, I’d rather wear burlap than her dress.
“I already bought my dress, Sandra.”
Her face darkened. “We’ll see about that.”
Two weeks passed in tense silence. Sandra moved through the house like a storm cloud. Dad tried to play peacemaker, but Sandra’s anger filled every room.
I came home that Thursday afternoon with my arms loaded with wedding flowers and table settings. The front door clicked shut behind me. Something felt wrong immediately.
