They say blood is thicker than water—but what happens when that blood betrays you? I’m Kylie, 35, and my younger sister Lily was always the golden child. I helped plan every detail of her wedding, wanting to support her even if I often felt like the shadow to her spotlight. On the wedding day, my son Matt tugged my hand with panic in his eyes. He had found a phone—Josh’s second phone, the one he said was “just for work.” A new message had come in. Matt had opened it and showed me the video. There, on screen, was Josh—my husband—kissing Lily in a hotel lobby. Timestamped the day before her wedding. The message below it was blackmail: “Meet me at,

the hotel. Don’t act smart or there’ll be consequences.As the priest said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” I walked down the aisle, heart pounding, and held up the phone for everyone to see. I showed the video to Lily’s groom, Adam, and the ceremony fell apart. Lily dropped to her knees. My mother accused me of jealousy. But I stood firm. I didn’t destroy the wedding—she did.