I’m Laya, and I’ve carried the silent, depressing belief that my family never really loved me for the majority of my twenty-eight years.
Not in the same manner that they loved my sister.
My older sister, Marissa, has always been the best kid.
The eldest child.
The lovely one.
The daughter who was infallible.
She was treated like royalty by our parents, particularly our mother Dedra.
I was the more reserved sibling, the industrious one, and I consistently brought home straight As, only to be met with a nonchalant “That’s good, honey.”
In the meantime, Marissa would scream if she didn’t pass an exam, and her mother would storm into the school and insist that she be given another chance.
I was taught early on that theatrics were the way to get attention in our home.
I didn’t act theatrical.
I didn’t shout.
Thus, I went unnoticed.
I enlisted in the military when I was 17.
I didn’t say anything until a month before my scheduled departure.
Mom’s reaction was one of startled incredulity.
“Do you intend to file papers there?”
Marissa only chuckled and said that in a few months I would be crying at home.
I wasn’t.
I was in service for six years.
After working in base security, I moved into operations, where I oversaw supplies, managed access, and evaluated threats at a classified facility.
I took pride in my work.
However, I remained “just a gate guard” to them.
After four years, I spent Christmas at home.
Marissa has recently become engaged to Army Major Landon.
Marissa had finally met someone “important” who “wore the uniform the right way,” and Mom was ecstatic, always boasting about it.
She looked directly at me when she said it.
Even though I showed up to the party in my uniform, I was still disappointing to them.
They laughed when they learned that I had federal clearance.
“So you enter a warehouse by snatching people?” Marissa made fun of it.
“There’s no need to act like it’s special,” Mom continued.
A few of us actually work.
She was referring to Marissa, who used other people’s photographs to share wedding-related inspiration on Instagram.
I refrained from fighting.
I didn’t return to debate.
The wedding followed.
Dad sent me a handwritten note saying, “Please come,” even though I didn’t want to go.
Her sibling is still you.
I thus arrived early, assisted them in finding seats, and repaired a crumbling arch.
I got no thanks.
I was seated at a rear table during the reception, next to two young children who were flinging food.
Marissa shone in the spotlight up front.
The shadows didn’t bother me.
I was accustomed to them.
I was pushed into the light by Marissa.
Marissa stood throughout the speeches when the best man finished speaking.
“And a big thanks to my little sister, Laya, for coming all the way from… wherever,” she continued, glancing directly at me while holding a wine glass.
She watches over a door.
She’s a gate guard, she said with a laugh.
Who would desire that?
There was a roar of laughing in the room.
My cheeks were burning.
Then I heard my mother exclaim, “She’s the embarrassment of this family,” as she raised her glass across the room.
Very sad.
More giggling.
I tried not to panic as I gazed at my plate.
I got up to go.
However, a chair slid noisily close to the head table.
Landon stood.
The happy groom had vanished.
The room became silent.
Before turning to face the audience, he crossed the floor to me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“She’s the reason I came home,” he said quietly but firmly.
A pin could be heard dropping.
I remained motionless.
Landon stepped back from me and turned to face everyone.
You refer to her as a “gate guard,” as if it were absurd.
Like it’s funny to be the boundary between chaos and safety.
Laya was stationed in Kandahar at the time of my deployment.
Someone ambushed my team.
In ten minutes, three men perished.
I was struck, bleeding out and barely awake.
He stopped and gestured at me.
She organized our removal.
Under fire.
Pulled out two teammates.
When others believed we were lost, you got me aboard the evac helicopter.
She kept me alive.
She rescued my family from a folded flag and a knock on the door.
It was dead quiet in the room.
“And now you sit here, laughing at her?” he added, his voice hardening.
Because she doesn’t use social media to pretend?
Because she served, not just in theory, but in reality?
He looked at Marissa, who was motionless and had a pale face.
“This wedding was not what I wanted.
I was attempting to persuade myself that was correct.
It was all for the picture, though.”
The concept of being a military wife appealed to you more than the service itself.
But the one who truly understands what service is?
You made her feel ashamed.
Then he turned to face me again.
“I ought to have stated this earlier.
I have cared about you for a very long time.
However, I will not allow this chamber to denigrate the strongest individual I have ever encountered.”
He extended his hand.
“Leave now.”
I was unable to breathe for a while.
I heard my mother’s glass break behind me; it had fallen in a shattered state.
I looked back.
She sagged in her chair and appeared pallid.
Overcome, Marissa fell to the ground like a burst balloon while still wearing her bridal dress.
I remained motionless.
Not quite yet.
Because I suddenly knew that I didn’t require saving.
I didn’t require approval.
However, I had a choice.
I took his hand as a result.
We walked instead than ran.
Be calm.
Sure.
We left the commotion behind and entered the silence.
We waited for a while in the car until Landon spoke quietly, “Are you okay?”
I considered it for the first time in a long time.
“Yes,” I said.
“I believe I am.”
The fallout was rapid in the days that followed.
Mom texted: Your sister’s wedding was wrecked by you.
Then: You ought to be embarrassed.
I didn’t respond.
Dad asked for peace over the phone.
I informed him that I had finished maintaining the peace that no one else cared to defend.
Marissa never made contact.
The following day, word spread that Landon had canceled the engagement.
A clip of his speech was uploaded, and the responses were critical.
Not my fault.
On her.
What about me and Landon?
We took our time.
We spoke openly.
Days were genuine, but they weren’t magical.
Months later, when I was reassigned, he assisted me with my move.
“You’re the first person I’d risk everything for,” he said with a smile as he lifted a box.
I returned the smile.
“And you’re the first to show me that I didn’t have to work for that.”
I no longer communicate with my mother.
Marissa is now but a name in the distance.
Not because I’m spiteful, but because I’ve finally realized that you don’t have to pursue love that doesn’t come your way.
For someone to notice you, you don’t have to beg.
There are times when you begin to ascend while others laugh at you.
The sister they made fun of left that evening, still with her dignity, and never turned around.
