It probably did. I tried to find satisfaction in that and came up empty. Mostly I just felt tired. Even now—even with everything that had happened—part of me wished they had cared enough to ask, to show the smallest interest in my life before it became something they could brag about.
My phone buzzed, then again, then again. I picked it up to find seventeen missed calls—my mother, my father, Lydia—text messages flooding in. “Elena, why didn’t you tell us?” “We need to talk about the wedding.” “Your father and I would like to be there.” “Can you call me? This is important.”
I set the phone face down on my desk and went back to my intelligence reports.
Chin watched me. “You’re not going to respond?”
“Not right now.”
“They’re probably losing their minds.”
“Probably.”
She sat down in the chair across from my desk. “You know, they’re going to try to insert themselves into this. Your mother is going to want to help plan. Lydia is going to want to be a bridesmaid. Your dad’s going to want to walk you down the aisle.”
“The wedding’s in two weeks. Everything’s already planned.”
“That won’t stop them from trying.” She was right, of course. By that evening, I had forty-two missed calls and thirty-seven text messages. My mother had left a voicemail that started with, “Elena, sweetheart, I don’t understand why you’ve been shutting us out,” and ended with her crying about how they’d “always supported my choices.” Always supported my choices—the same woman who’d asked me to change out of my uniform before dinner parties, who’d never attended a single promotion ceremony, who’d gone to London instead of my engagement celebration.
I called Mark. He answered on the first ring. “You okay?” he asked.
“They know. They’re calling and texting. They want to come to the wedding.”
“Do you want them there?”
I thought about that. “I don’t know. Part of me wants to say yes because they’re still my family. But part of me knows they only care now because it’s suddenly impressive. Because there’s something in it for them.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing yet. I haven’t responded.” He was quiet for a moment. “This is your call, Elena. They’re your family. If you want them there, I’ll make it happen. If you don’t, that’s okay, too. But whatever you decide, make sure it’s what you actually want, not what you think you should want.”
That was the thing about Mark. He never told me what to do. He just helped me see the situation clearly and trusted me to make my own decisions. “I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Take your time. We’ve got two weeks.”
But as it turned out, I didn’t need two weeks. The next morning, I woke up to another Instagram post from Lydia. This one was a photo of her at brunch with my parents—all three of them dressed up and smiling. The caption: “Family meeting about some very exciting news. So proud of my little sister. Can’t wait to celebrate with her. #proudfamily #militarywedding #proudfamily.”
I stared at those words. She’d hashtagged “proud family” after posting “some celebrations actually matter” just weeks earlier. She’d gone from mocking my engagement to claiming pride in my wedding. And the only thing that had changed was her knowledge of who I was marrying. I screenshot the post and sent it to Mark with a single line: “This is who they are.” His response came immediately: “Understood. Your call.”
I sat with that for a while, my phone in my hands, the wedding two weeks away, my family suddenly desperate to be involved in something they’d already dismissed. Then I opened a new message to all three of them: “I appreciate your interest in the wedding. Unfortunately, the security clearance process for guests closed last week, and we can’t add anyone new to the approved list at this late stage. Perhaps we can get together afterward.” Professional. Polite. Final. I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
The responses came within minutes. “Elena, please. We can expedite clearances—your father knows people. Don’t shut us out of this. We’re your family.” “This is ridiculous. You’re being petty.” I read each message once, then set my phone to Do Not Disturb.
Chin stopped by again that afternoon. “Did you tell them?”
“I told them the guest list is closed.”
“How’d they take it?”
“About as well as expected.”
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