The morning of our wedding unfolded like something out of a dream. The skies were crystal clear, a gentle breeze whispered through the wildflowers, and sunlight wrapped everything in a soft glow. It was perfect — except for Jenna.

My wife’s sister had arrived already wearing that sour expression she reserved for events that didn’t center around her. As the bridesmaids posed for photos, Jenna dragged her heels — literally and figuratively — squinting dramatically at the sun and tugging at her dress.

“It’s too hot,” she muttered. “This dress fits weird. I look ridiculous.”

Nina, always the peacemaker, handed her a bottle of water with a smile. “Here, Jen. Just breathe, okay?”

Jenna barely acknowledged her. This was familiar territory for Nina — she’d spent her whole life making excuses for her sister’s moods. I’d heard all about it but seeing it live was something else.

The photographer called for “just the sisters.” Nina beamed as she pulled Jenna close, but Jenna’s face twisted in silent protest — first an eye roll, then a sneer caught mid-shutter click. Melissa, our photographer, tried to coax a genuine smile, but Jenna gave her nothing.

“She’s nervous,” Nina whispered later, still trying to convince herself. “She’s not used to being around so many people.”

I bit my tongue. Thirty guests wasn’t exactly a stadium crowd.

The rest of the day was beautiful — perfect even. Jenna kept to the fringes, sipping champagne, occasionally chiming in with passive-aggressive jabs, but nothing could dull the glow of Nina’s joy as we exchanged vows and danced under the fairy lights.

Weeks later, our photo gallery arrived. Nina and I sat together, scrolling through frame after frame of pure happiness. “Look at this one!” she gasped. “We should frame it for the living room.”

We were both lost in the magic of reliving the day — until her phone buzzed.

It was Jenna.

“You let the photographer capture me looking like THAT?!” her voice shrieked through the speaker. “I look like I was attacked by humidity and bad lighting!”

“Jen—”

“No. Delete every photo I’m in. Immediately. If you post anything with me in it, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Nina crumpled, her face heavy with a familiar heartbreak. “She always does this,” she whispered. “She ruins every happy thing.”

That night, while Nina slept, I made a decision.

I opened the laptop, pulled up the gallery, and got to work. Jenna, as usual, had placed herself on the edge of most group shots — conveniently easy to crop out. Click by click, photo by photo, she vanished. Clean. Respectful. Surgical.

The next day, I posted our favorite photos online — every joyful moment preserved, minus Jenna. It was, technically, exactly what she asked for.

The reaction was instant.

My phone buzzed. Jenna’s voice exploded through the speaker. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! You cut me out entirely?!”

“You asked us not to share any photos of you,” I replied calmly.

“You knew that’s not what I meant!”

“I took your request literally. You said not to include you in any photos. Now you’re not in any.”

Silence.

She hung up.

When I told Nina, I expected her to scold me. Instead, she laughed — not out of amusement, but relief. “You actually did it,” she said softly. “You finally stood up to her.”

In the days that followed, Jenna refused to speak to either of us. Nina’s parents, as usual, tried to play peacemakers, urging Nina to be “the bigger person.” But for once, Nina didn’t fold.

As we sat folding laundry one night, she rested her head on my shoulder. “I’ve spent my whole life protecting her,” she said quietly. “It’s exhausting.”

“You don’t have to anymore.”

For the first time in years, I think she finally believed it.

Jenna thought she could hold our happiness hostage with her drama. What she didn’t realize was — sometimes, when people try to erase themselves from your life, the kindest thing you can do… is let them.