I have worn many titles in my life. Daughter, sister, friend, survivor. But the one title I never imagined wearing was maid of honour to the woman marrying the man who broke me. My sister has my blood, my secrets, and my trust. She also has my ex fiancé, and in three weeks, she expects me to stand at that altar, hold her flowers, and pretend my heart is not still bleeding on the floor of their rehearsal dinner. I love her. But I am not sure I can survive loving her that much.
