My sister was laughing when she said it. She stood at the edge of my swimming pool in a white wedding dress that probably cost more than my first car. Behind her, strings of patio lights reflected across the water. One hundred twenty guests had gone silent. The DJ had stopped the music. Sparklers hung uselessly in people’s hands.

By eight in the evening, the sun had dipped below the fence line, leaving the Texas sky bruised in shades of violet and crimson.

The ceremony at the church had been a blur of artificial smiles and tense pleasantries. Tanner looked stiff in his tuxedo, his forehead damp with sweat, but he gave me a genuinely grateful nod when I handed Sierra her bouquet at the altar. Sierra had refused to meet my eyes once.

Now, the reception was in full swing, and my worst fears had materialized into a living nightmare.

Over a hundred guests packed into my yard. Empty beer cans and champagne glasses littered the flower beds. Someone had dropped a plate of barbecue ribs directly onto the blue mosaic pool tiles, staining the porous grout. The music thudded so violently that the water in the pool rippled like a drumhead.

I was standing near the filtration pump in my navy dress, rubbing my right shoulder. Six weeks earlier, I had torn my rotator cuff trying to move a heavy file cabinet at the school. It had taken a steroid injection, physical therapy, and weeks of careful immobilization just to keep the pain manageable. The deep, throbbing ache had returned with a vengeance after a day of being bumped into by drunken guests.

“Hey! Callie!”

I looked up. Sierra was standing on the narrow stone coping right beside the deep end, her layered tulle and lace wedding dress glowing under the patio lights. Her face was flushed, her veil slightly askew, and she was holding a half-empty glass of tequila.

Beside her, Kenzie—her maid of honor—was holding up an iPhone with a blinding ring light attachment.

“Come here!” Sierra shouted over the blaring country song. “Mom wants a sister photo!”

I walked over cautiously, staying two feet away from the water. The stone around the pool was slick with spilled alcohol and melted ice. “Sierra, let’s take it by the rose bushes. It’s too slippery right on the edge.”

“Don’t tell me where to take my wedding photos!” Sierra laughed loudly, playing to the crowd of relatives watching from the patio tables. “Always a bossy schoolteacher! Stand here!”

She reached out and yanked my bare arm. A sharp bolt of agony shot straight up my injured shoulder, causing me to gasp.

“Stop, Sierra, let go! My shoulder—”

“Oh, quit being such a dramatic baby!” she sneered, leaning in close so only I could smell the tequila on her breath. “You’ve been sulking around like a dark cloud all night trying to ruin my day. Smile for the camera, bitch.”

“I’m going inside,” I said firmly, pulling my arm out of her grip. “I’m shutting this party down at ten sharp like the contract says.”

I took half a step backward to turn away.

Sierra’s eyes widened with sudden, uncontrollable rage. She didn't just push me to get past; she planted both open palms directly against my injured right shoulder blade and shoved with the full weight of her body.

“Go cool off!” she screamed.

My feet slid on the slick slate. I didn’t just fall into the pool—I was propelled backward into the deep end.

As I plunged, my right shoulder slammed violently into the submerged concrete coping beneath the waterline. A sound like a snapping dry branch echoed inside my ears, followed by an explosion of blinding white pain that made my vision black out for a full second.

The cold water closed over my head.

Chlorine rushed up my nose and into my lungs as I instinctively gasped. My right arm was dead weight, completely useless, hanging limp from a dislocated and torn joint. I kicked frantically with my legs, fighting my waterlogged navy dress, kicking through the heavy dark water toward the surface.

I broke through the surface, sputtering, gagging on pool water and vomit, choking as I clawed at the stone lip with my left hand.

Laughter.

Roars of drunken, hysterical laughter cascaded down from the patio.

Sierra was bent over at the waist, clapping her hands, her white dress rustling. “Oh my God! Kenzie, did you get it? Tell me you got that on camera!”

“I got it! I got every second!” Kenzie shrieked, doubling over with laughter.

Around the pool, one hundred and twenty guests were grinning, pointing, filming with their phones. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody reached out a hand.

Then my sister leaned down, looking right into my terrified, pain-stricken face, her mouth curving into that familiar, venomous grin.