The Scapegoat Bride's Last Breath

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1: 1

During the walk to the altar, Lambert Sanchez shoved a memorial portrait of my sister into my arms.

If you hadn't drugged him and crawled into his bed, Melinda would never have vanished, never have ended up somewhere between living and dead!

The blow knocked me back a few steps, and the uremia medication had my hands shaking, so the photo slid right out of my fingers.

A year ago my sister, Melinda Dickerson, fell for someone else and came to me in tears, begging me to talk Lambert into letting her go.

Meaning well, I handed Lambert the drink Melinda had given me.

But after he drank it, he lost control and forced himself on me.

Melinda played the part of the heartbroken one and disappeared without a trace.

And I became the little slut the whole family talked about.

My mother yanked my hair and spat the words at me.

"I regret ever giving birth to you, you animal, stealing your own sister's man!"

My father's face was cold. "After you're married off, don't ever come back here."

I lowered my head and looked at the message Melinda had just sent me.

"April, today's your wedding day."

"I'll come back and set it all straight, so you can marry with a clean name."

Drops of blood from my nose splattered onto the screen, one after another.

I knew I probably wouldn't last that long.

The blood on the screen blurred out Melinda's message.

No one noticed that anything was wrong with me.

Mom and Dad were wiping down Melinda's memorial altar with towels, and Lambert was lighting incense for her.

I got up and went to the bathroom, cleaning the blood off with tissue.

My makeup was smudged, so I found the makeup artist.

"Sorry to trouble you, could you touch up my foundation and lipstick again?"

She saw how pale my face was and lowered her voice. "Did the bride skip breakfast? Don't go and drop your blood sugar later."

I was about to answer when my mother's disgusted voice came from behind me.

"Hmph. Still in the mood to primp yourself up."

"Of course. A woman stealing her man has to look radiant at her wedding."

Aunt Colleen came over with her arms crossed, looking me up and down. "Melinda's barely cold in the ground and you've still got the heart to do your makeup?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't have the face to go on living."

I knew the whole family's humiliation was starting up again.

The makeup artist frowned. "Ma'am, it's a wedding day. Can't you let the bride enjoy it?"

Seeing someone answer back, Aunt Colleen only warmed to it. "Little girl, you don't know."

"This bride stole her own sister's boyfriend. She's rotten through and through."

The makeup artist's hand paused mid-touch-up. Her eyes flicked over me once, then quickly turned away.

I bowed my head and gave a bitter smile as the officiant carried over the fire basin to smooth things over.

"Time for the bride to step over the fire basin."

"Marry into her new home in harmony and happiness!"

I stood up, gathered my skirt, and was just about to step across.

Lambert kicked the basin over with his foot, his voice full of contempt.

"Only a good woman gets to step over the fire."

"A bed-crawler like you doesn't deserve it."

Sparks burned a few holes through my wedding dress.

I lifted my head stubbornly, my voice shaking a little. "I've said it so many times! That drink was given to me by Melinda."

Lambert cut me off, impatient. "Enough. Even lying has its limits!"

"Melinda and I were already talking about getting married. Why on earth would she drug me and then frame you?"

"April Dickerson, you really are vicious. Melinda's gone and you're still dragging her name through the mud!"

I looked at the anger in his eyes and closed my mouth.

It had been like this all year.

I explained and no one listened.

Whatever I said was just an excuse, just a lie to shift the blame.

The officiant cleared his throat awkwardly and passed me a cup of tea. "The bride offers tea to her sister."

I looked at the photo of Melinda on the memorial altar. It was the same one she had sent me.

Then I said it, one word at a time. "Melinda is still alive. Just yesterday she sent me a selfie of herself at the beach"

Before I could finish, a slap landed across my face.

My father's eyes were red with fury. "Your sister is dead and you're still spreading lies about her!"

"When she was alive she gave in to you on everything, and now that she's gone you still won't let her rest!"

2: 2

2.

I clutched my cheek and stumbled back a few steps.

It was true. Melinda had always given in to me.

The dress-up doll Mom bought, she handed to me, and then Mom turned around and bought her a new one.

The little dress Dad bought, she handed to me, and then Dad wired her money to buy her own.

From the time she was small, she had all the love and all the money she could want.

Of course she was willing to give things up.

My head hung to one side, my cheek burning.

Dad pressed his lips together, his voice cold.

"Kneel. Kowtow to your sister and admit what you did."

I stayed where I was.

The next second, a mop handle swept across the backs of my knees.

My legs buckled and I went down hard, kneeling in front of Melinda's memorial altar.

I tried to get up, but Lambert pinned me in place so I couldn't move.

Mom came out of Melinda's room with a notebook.

She opened to the first page, cleared her throat, and said,

"Since you won't admit it, then let everyone hear just how much you've owed your sister all these years."

"At three, April lost Melinda's rag doll. No apology, no replacement."

"At seven, April broke Melinda's pencil case, and Melinda had nothing to write with."

"At twelve, April snuck into Melinda's dress, and when she got caught she wouldn't give it back, and she tore a hole in it."

Mom's voice climbed higher and higher, and my body went colder and colder.

That wasn't how it happened. Kneeling on the floor, my shoulders trembling, I said,

"But afterward I always"

Only the relatives around me were murmuring, and Aunt Colleen pitched her voice sharp and cut over mine.

"You still have the nerve to explain. Your sister's diary spells it all out. You've been a scheming little thing since you were born!"

My great-aunt shook her head and sighed.

"This is what an ungrateful stray is like. She should've been given away long ago"

My aunt-in-law let out a cold laugh.

"Melinda was such a lovely girl, and you go and steal even her man."

I dropped my head and closed my eyes, murmuring, "That's not how it was."

Everything Melinda ever handed down to me, when did I not pay it back?

She gave me the rag doll, and for three straight months I couldn't bring myself to spend a cent of my allowance.

I saved up and bought her a doll that blinked its eyes. That doll is still sitting on her desk to this day.

The pencil case, Melinda didn't want it and gave it to me herself.

After I broke it, I apologized, and I gave her my own pencil case.

And that dress, Melinda said she couldn't fit into it anymore and passed it to me.

Later, for her birthday, I used my allowance to buy her a more expensive one.

Mom and Dad even said back then, "April has good taste."

I thought Mom and Dad would see what I did.

But all they ever saw was what Melinda gave up. They never once remembered that I paid it back.

I forced myself up on the strength I had left, my knees aching so badly I nearly went down again.

I swept a glance over the relatives behind me and demanded,

"Which one of you ever saw me slip Lambert anything?"

3: 3

3.

No one said anything.

After a few seconds, Dad spoke.

"Melinda's gone now. Twist the story however you want."

"The point is, you're the one who handed that drink to Lambert, and Lambert said he felt wrong the second he finished it."

"If you didn't do it, then who did?"

I swallowed down the bitterness in my throat and forced out, my voice hoarse,

"Melinda gave it to me!"

"She told me to bring it to Lambert to taste. I had no idea what was in it!"

Mom stood off to the side, eyeing me sideways.

"Not today. I don't want to hear another one of your lies. Get out."

Someone shoved me, and I stumbled toward the door.

Lambert hauled me up and jammed a battered bouquet into my arms.

"What are you spouting off about? Haven't you embarrassed yourself enough?"

I tipped my face up at him. His features hadn't changed at all.

But I still remembered that day, how he woke and saw the marks on my body and said,

"I'll take responsibility. Just don't call the police, all right?"

I'd never been in a relationship. I believed him, and I didn't call.

The first two months, he treated me well.

The moment I got into the passenger seat, he'd lean over.

"Let me get your seatbelt."

When he found out I'd never been to an amusement park, he bought tickets on the spot.

"Come on, I'm taking you to Disneyland today."

Even over a plate of pasta, he'd remind the cook,

"No onions in hers. The kid doesn't like them."

He called me kid. I thought that was love.

I thought he was heaven's way of making it up to me.

But then Melinda really did vanish.

Mom and Dad tried everything, and turned up nothing.

They decided their Melinda was dead.

And I became the outlet for all their hatred.

Everyone said I'd done it on purpose.

That I'd drugged Lambert on purpose, made him care about me on purpose.

After that, Lambert only got rougher.

He even made me wear my sister's mask when we were intimate.

Every time I fought back, he'd sneer at me like a man gone half-mad.

"I thought if I was good to you, Melinda would get jealous and show up."

"I never thought you'd actually gotten her killed!"

"What right do you have to resist? You owe this to Melinda."

What did I owe Melinda?

A boyfriend she'd never wanted in the first place?

The officiant glanced at the clock on the wall and prompted,

"The lucky hour for the send-off is here. The groom should carry the bride downstairs now."

Lambert stayed where he was and glanced back at me.

"Walk down yourself."

The words had barely left him before the officiant explained through a stretched-on smile,

"A bride who walks to the car on her own cuts years off her life, you know."

The man heard that and hesitated for a moment, then looked at Melinda's photo in the room and said coldly,

"She's a plague that's still breathing. What years are there to cut?"

With that, he went downstairs without a backward glance.

I watched his back and followed, one step at a time, down the stairs.

I was already someone with barely any days left. Not many years to cut anyway.

As I stepped out of the building's door, Melinda sent a text.

"Just landed. I'll come straight to the banquet to find you in a bit."

4: 4

4.

By the time I reached the hotel where the banquet was being held, hardly anyone had come.

And when they saw me, every set of eyes looked at me the way you'd look at something filthy.

I stood alone at the far end of the stage.

The emcee called out to my father, a little awkwardly.

"Sir, it should be you who gives your daughter away."

My father sat in the seat of honor and said mockingly,

"The Dickersons have only one daughter, and that's Melinda Dickerson."

As if afraid I'd cling to him, he walked up onto the stage and took the microphone.

"I'd like to say something today, to all our friends and family."

"From now on, the Dickersons have Melinda, and no April."

His face dark, he pulled out the family records and tore out my page.

I stood at the other end of the stage. The spotlight stung until my eyes ached.

The torn page was crumpled into a ball and tossed to the floor.

I looked at that wad of paper and felt something lodge in my throat.

I swallowed hard and asked in a hoarse voice,

"Dad, why are you doing this to me?"

He turned away without even looking back, his voice like ice.

"You have no right to the name Dickerson."

Standing up there, I suddenly laughed.

Maybe it was because I'd swallowed too much over the years.

So much that in this moment I didn't feel the pain at all, only how absurd it was.

The guests below were talking.

"Look at her, still smiling. No shame at all."

"If it weren't for the Sanchez family's face, I wouldn't have shown up today."

I'd just opened my mouth when that warmth surged up in my nose again.

I clamped a hand over it, and blood seeped out slowly between my fingers.

The people below gasped.

"She's got a nosebleed, call an ambulance."

My mother stood up from the head table and gave me one cold look. "She's faking. She's loved putting on a show since she was little."

I couldn't keep my balance and fell to the floor.

My lungs felt hot, burning. I braced my arms to push myself up, but my body wouldn't obey.

Lambert frowned down at me, his tone sick of it all.

"April, it's just a nosebleed. What are you playing dead for?"

I wanted to speak, but the blood in my nose only came faster.

The emcee finally caught on, his voice tight with nerves.

"The bride really doesn't look well. An ambulance, someone call an ambulance!"

"What ambulance!" My father came up onto the stage and kicked me twice.

"She's done this her whole life! Scold her and she plays sick, hit her and she plays faint."

"She's already turned this wedding into a disgrace. Is that not enough for her?"

Aunt Colleen leaned in with her phone, filming a close-up.

"My, the blood looks pretty real. She didn't use one of those fake-blood packs, did she? That's how all the influencers do it now."

I lay sprawled on the floor and lifted my hand to tug at the hem of Lambert's trousers.

"Medicine. The medicine's in my bag."

Lambert put some force into it and pried my hand loose.

"Are you done? If you're done acting, get up yourself. Stop embarrassing everyone here."

I looked at Lambert and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Shock flickered across the man's face.

Then came disgust, and he took an instinctive step back.

Before my consciousness slipped away, I saw the doors of the banquet hall push open.

A woman in a white dress stood in the doorway, dragging a suitcase.