“And it still can be,” I said gently, trying to bridge the chasm between us. “But it starts with acceptance, with embracing the reality that life isn’t perfect. It’s messy and complicated, but that’s what makes it beautiful.”

Her shoulders sagged, the fight leaving her body. In that moment, I saw my sister not as the bride, or the person who hurt me, but as someone caught in the trap of her own expectations.

“I’m sorry,” Lila said finally, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… wanted everything to be perfect.”

“I know,” I replied, offering her a small smile. “But maybe perfect is overrated.”