Raised my little sister alone after our parents disappeared from our lives, and at her wedding, her father-in-law looked me up and down and said, “So you’re the charity case who raised the bride?”

Just me and a little girl who eventually started calling me “Rae” in a way that felt like both love and survival.

By the time Lily turned eighteen, she wasn’t merely raised.

She was resilient.

Brilliant.

Kind in ways I had never been allowed to be at her age.

And then she met Andrew Whitmore.

His name carried weight.

Old money.

Old expectations.

Old rules.