The Priest Wouldn't Begin Until My Brother and Aunt Left

Chapter 1 – The Ceremony That Wouldn’t Start

The priest raised one hand just as my father and I prepared to walk down the aisle. “I will not begin this ceremony until two people leave this room.”

Every whisper in the chapel stopped. At 27, I had imagined countless versions of my wedding to Mark, my high school sweetheart of nearly ten years. Not one included Father Michael refusing to marry us.

Mark and I had met during a sophomore chemistry project. He had remained beside me through college decisions, family tension, and the start of my marketing career. My parents adored him and often said I had always made sensible choices.

Unfortunately, their praise usually came at my older brother’s expense. Tony was 30, unemployed more often than not, and living in our parents’ basement. Growing up, he had heard some version of “Why can’t you be more like Rebecca?” until he believed he was the family disappointment. I tried encouraging him, but my advice probably sounded like one more judgment from the golden child.

Still, Tony had congratulated us warmly. That morning, he sat in the third row wearing a borrowed suit. Beside him was our Aunt Molly, clutching her purse.

The small chapel looked beautiful with white roses and baby’s breath around the altar. Father Michael had been cheerful earlier, greeting guests and joking with Mark’s groomsmen. Then, about twenty minutes before the ceremony, his expression changed.

Now he pointed directly at Tony and Aunt Molly.

“Those two must leave,” he said.

My stomach dropped. “They’re my family. What could they possibly have done?”