{"id":847,"date":"2026-03-09T02:55:01","date_gmt":"2026-03-09T02:55:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/?p=847"},"modified":"2026-03-09T02:55:02","modified_gmt":"2026-03-09T02:55:02","slug":"how-did-my-sisters-wedding-turn-into-a-crime-scene-in-under-20-minutes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/?p=847","title":{"rendered":"How did my sister\u2019s wedding turn into a crime scene in under 20 minutes?"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I knew something was wrong before my brain would admit it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister, Felicity, was halfway down the aisle, veil glowing in the afternoon sun, string quartet playing Canon in D like we lived in a bridal magazine. I lifted my champagne flute for a little sip, more out of habit than thirst.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It tasted\u2026 wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bitter. Chalky. With this weird metallic aftertaste that made my tongue feel strangely thick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I frowned, set the glass on my lap, and tried to convince myself it was just bad champagne. My sister was getting married. This was her moment. I was a bridesmaid in mauve chiffon. I was supposed to be smiling and dabbling at happy tears, not making faces at the drinks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then my hands started tingling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At first it was just my fingertips, like when your hand falls asleep. Then it crept up my arms. My toes went next, then my feet. The quartet sounded like it was underwater. The edges of my vision blurred like someone had smeared Vaseline on my eyeballs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at the champagne flute and knew, with cold certainty, that something was seriously wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to stand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My legs didn\u2019t cooperate.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I managed to lurch halfway into the aisle before a hand clamped around my arm and yanked me back down into my chair hard enough to make the world tilt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSit down,\u201d a voice hissed in my ear. \u201cYou\u2019re making a scene.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity\u2019s new mother-in-law, Diane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perfectly blow-dried, sixty-something, wearing pearls and an expression that made me feel six years old and caught doing something shameful. Her fingers dug into my bicep with surprising strength.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2014I don\u2019t feel\u2026\u201d I tried to say, but my tongue felt heavy, like it didn\u2019t belong in my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know exactly what you\u2019re doing,\u201d she muttered so only I could hear. \u201cYou\u2019ve been trying to steal attention from Felicity all week with your little complaints. You will not ruin this for her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to tell her that wasn\u2019t it. That my drink tasted wrong. That my vision was closing in like a camera lens. That my hands were going numb and my heart was racing and I couldn\u2019t feel my feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The officiant said, \u201cIf anyone knows of a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened my mouth to shout, Someone poisoned me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane slapped her hand over my mouth so hard my teeth cut my lip. I tasted blood and something else\u2014something chemical, bitter and wrong.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe quiet,\u201d she breathed. \u201cYou can sleep it off later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thrashed weakly, scratching at her wrist, trying to peel her fingers away. My muscles felt like they were moving through molasses. Sound warped in and out. Felicity\u2019s voice reciting her vows came from a tunnel miles away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My head lolled to the side.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity glanced back at me, eyebrows pinched in irritation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She thought I was being dramatic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She thinks I\u2019m trying to ruin her wedding, I realized, and the unfairness of that hit almost as hard as the fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The kiss happened. Applause erupted around us in a muffled roar. At some point, Diane removed her hand. I slumped forward into the person in front of me. They twisted around, ready to snap at me for being rude\u2014then saw my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey,\u201d they said, voice shifting to concern. \u201cYou okay? You don\u2019t look\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I slid off the chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The grass was hard and unforgiving against my shoulder. The sky spun. Someone said my name distantly. Someone else called for water. I tried to say, Hospital. Poison, but the sounds came out tangled and thick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane\u2019s voice rose above the confused murmur.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s drunk,\u201d she announced. \u201cI told her not to overdo it at the bridal suite. She always has to make it about herself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People pulled back, embarrassed on my behalf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two groomsmen I didn\u2019t know knelt beside me at Diane\u2019s direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHelp her up,\u201d she said. \u201cWe\u2019ll put her somewhere quiet to sleep this off. No need to ruin the reception.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2026 need\u2026 help\u2026\u201d I tried to say. \u201cSomething\u2026 in the\u2026 drink\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The groomsmen laughed awkwardly. \u201cWow, she\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They lifted me under the arms. My feet barely brushed the ground as they half-dragged, half-carried me toward the mansion on the property. Out of the ceremony space. Away from the guests. Away from the string quartet and the cameras and the people who might have noticed how wrong this all was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They took me up a back staircase and into a small room that smelled like dust and mothballs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A storage room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They dropped me onto a sagging couch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lock clicked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their footsteps retreated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I realized, in a bright, icy burst, that Diane hadn\u2019t just dismissed my symptoms.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had deliberately isolated me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My phone was in my clutch back at my seat. No windows in here. No one else. Just racks of old decorations and boxes of linens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to sit up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My body said no.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Time blurred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At some point I heard voices outside the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201c\u2026she just needs to sleep it off,\u201d Diane\u2019s sharp tone said. \u201cWe\u2019ll deal with her after the reception.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d a man\u2019s voice replied. \u201cShe didn\u2019t look okay, Di. Maybe we should\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI said we\u2019ll deal with it later,\u201d Diane snapped, voice low and furious. \u201cThis is Felicity\u2019s day. I won\u2019t have her sister\u2019s theatrics ruin it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Footsteps. Fading.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to scream then. Tried to throw something, bang on the door, anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing moved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My arms twitched uselessly. My chest felt tight, like an elephant was standing on it. Each breath was shallow. My heart fluttered weirdly in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mom had died when I was twelve. Undiagnosed heart condition. One minute she was making pancakes, the next she was on the kitchen floor. Gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How poetic, some bitter, detached part of me thought. Mom\u2019s heart gave out. Mine gets poisoned at a wedding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My vision went black at the edges. Then completely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I let go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I came back, the first thing I saw was a light being shined into my eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPupils reactive,\u201d someone said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A paramedic. Blue uniform. Serious face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan you hear me?\u201d he asked. \u201cSqueeze my hand if you can hear me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My fingers moved a fraction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood. Stay with us. You\u2019re very sick, but we\u2019ve got you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Another paramedic was taping an IV line to my arm. I could feel cold fluid entering my vein, making its way up my arm. A blood pressure cuff squeezed my other arm. I heard words like \u201cdangerously low\u201d and \u201cbradypnea\u201d and \u201ccharcoal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They lifted me onto a stretcher and wheeled me out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We bumped down stairs. Around corners. The world tilted. My stomach rolled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they pushed me through a doorway back into the reception area, everything had changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No music.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No happy chatter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clusters of guests stood around looking shellshocked. Police officers moved from group to group, notebooks out. Flash of a camera. Evidence tags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane was in handcuffs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her updo was unraveling. Her lipstick had worn off. She was screaming at the officers, voice high and shrill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t do anything! This is all a misunderstanding! Check her friends, she probably took something herself\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They walked her past my stretcher.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our eyes met.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her face changed\u2014just for a second\u2014something dark flashing beneath the panicked housewife act. Then she turned away and started sobbing loudly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My dad stood near the head table, still in his Father of the Bride tux, looking like someone had taken a hammer to his life. Felicity, in her perfect white dress, had black streaks down her cheeks from smeared mascara.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dessert table was overturned, wedding cake smashed in a sad heap on the ground. White icing and fondant flowers smeared across the floor like it had been murdered too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then the doors of the ambulance closed and the scene disappeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The ER was fluorescent and cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They hooked me up to monitors that beeped relentlessly, measuring my heart rate, oxygen levels, blood pressure. A nurse poured black sludge\u2014activated charcoal\u2014into my IV while another inserted a second port.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour tox screen is lighting up,\u201d a doctor explained. \u201cThere are very high levels of prescription sedatives in your blood mixed with another agent we\u2019re still identifying. You\u2019re lucky someone noticed you were missing when they did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She said \u201clucky\u201d a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lucky I hadn\u2019t finished the entire glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lucky the venue coordinator had gone to check the storage rooms when someone mentioned I\u2019d been taken inside and not seen again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lucky a server had told the police they\u2019d seen Diane pouring something into a champagne glass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lucky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t alcohol, then,\u201d I managed to croak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head. \u201cNo. You were drugged, not drunk. And whoever did it knew what they were doing. This was a dangerous mix.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Detective Foster came in later. Mid-40s, gentle voice, notebook ready.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you\u2019re tired,\u201d he said. \u201cBut the sooner we get your statement, the better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I told him everything I remembered. The taste of the champagne. The tingling. Diane\u2019s iron grip on my arm. Her hand over my mouth. Being carried. The lock clicking on the storage room door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He showed me photos of my champagne flute in an evidence bag. Someone had snapped it before the chaos.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All the flutes at the wedding had been custom engraved with the couple\u2019s initials. Mine was the only one with residue on the inner rim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve found Rohypnol,\u201d he said, face tightening. \u201cAnd traces of a veterinary sedative. We\u2019re still waiting on full analysis, but the tox screen is\u2026 bad. This combination should have killed you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen why am I here?\u201d I asked, voice hoarse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t drink all of it,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd they found you in time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not Diane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad arrived sometime after midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His tuxedo jacket was gone. His bow tie hung limp around his neck. His eyes were red and empty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He sat beside my bed and held my hand carefully\u2014like I might break.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow are you feeling?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLike I got hit by a truck,\u201d I said. \u201cAnd then backed over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He tried to smile. It failed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stayed in silence for a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he said, quietly, \u201cThey found pills in her purse. Sleeping tablets. And GHB.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Date-rape drug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe says she just wanted to make you sleepy,\u201d he continued, voice breaking. \u201cThat you were making drama, that you\u2019d ruin the day. She says she didn\u2019t mean to\u2026 do this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We both knew that was bullshit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat did I ever do to her?\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked so old in that moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe thought you were jealous,\u201d he said. \u201cShe thought you\u2019d overshadow Felicity somehow. She\u2019s been talking about it for months. I ignored it. I thought she\u2019d just\u2026 calm down once the wedding was over.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If the wedding had been over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wasn\u2019t sure yet if I\u2019d lived long enough to count.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity came the next morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The last time I\u2019d seen her, she\u2019d been radiant at the altar, annoyed with me for \u201cmaking a scene.\u201d Now she looked wrecked. Wedding makeup gone, hair half fallen out of its updo, wearing sweats with \u201cBRIDE\u201d across the chest like a joke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We both cried for a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe was in my ear for months,\u201d Felicity said eventually. \u201cAbout how you\u2019d try to make it about you. How you\u2019d show up in something inappropriate. How you\u2019d complain or pick a fight. I told her to stop. I thought she was just being a controlling mother-of-the-groom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shook her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t realize she was setting you up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The toxicology report came back three days later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rohypnol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Prescription sedatives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A veterinary tranquilizer Diane had access to from a part-time job at an animal clinic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The doctor told me flatly, \u201cIf you\u2019d drunk the whole glass, you would be dead. No question.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The police found searches on Diane\u2019s computer for \u201cmake someone seem drunk,\u201d \u201cslip sleeping pill into drink without taste,\u201d and \u201chow long until someone dies from overdose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They also found texts to her sister:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We have to keep an eye on Felicity\u2019s annoying little sister. She\u2019ll ruin the photos if she starts drama. Might be better if she\u2019s not around during the important parts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her lawyer tried to spin it in court.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe was under stress.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe misjudged the dose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe never intended harm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The evidence didn\u2019t care about spin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Security footage showed her picking up a champagne flute from a server\u2019s tray, stepping behind a column with it, then putting it back in the exact place that would be handed to me based on the seating chart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Witnesses testified.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Servers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Guests.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even one of the groomsmen who\u2019d carried me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI thought she was drunk,\u201d he said on the stand. \u201cThen I saw the footage. I\u2026 I helped move her instead of calling 911. I\u2019ll live with that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane sat at the defense table, face slack.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the judge read \u201cguilty\u201d on all counts\u2014attempted murder, aggravated assault, false imprisonment\u2014she didn\u2019t flinch. Not once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It felt surreal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nothing about what had happened felt like justice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just\u2026 less injustice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Recovery wasn\u2019t linear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The nerve damage from the drugs meant my hands shook all the time. Simple things like holding a fork or writing my name became skills I had to relearn in physical therapy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes my legs just\u2026 forgot how to cooperate. I\u2019d be walking, and suddenly I\u2019d veer sideways like a drunk sailor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I dropped out of community college for a semester. Then another.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity, with her master\u2019s degree and six-figure salary, could have easily made me feel small.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She never did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou survived a murder attempt,\u201d she\u2019d say when I got frustrated with myself. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to prove anything to anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Social media turned it into a circus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Local news picked up my story. National outlets grabbed it for a slow news day. \u201cBridesmaid Poisoned at Sister\u2019s Wedding\u201d made for great clickbait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strangers dissected my life in comment sections.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some believed me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some said I must have done something to provoke Diane.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some said I\u2019d faked it for attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some said I was obviously angling for a lawsuit payout.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I read too many of those comments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dad eventually blocked the news sites on the home Wi-Fi because I couldn\u2019t stop doomscrolling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe know the truth,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cLet them scream into the void.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sentencing day, the courtroom was packed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trauma porn sells.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The prosecutor asked for the maximum. Twenty-five years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My victim impact statement shook in my hands as I read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI can\u2019t hold a cup of coffee without thinking about that champagne flute,\u201d I told the judge. \u201cI still wake up thinking I\u2019m locked in a dark closet with my lungs filling up with cement. I avoid weddings. I don\u2019t drink anything I haven\u2019t opened myself. I jump when someone walks up behind me. This doesn\u2019t end just because the headlines stop.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane\u2019s lawyer asked for leniency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a respected member of the community. No prior record. This was a moment of poor judgment. She has expressed remorse.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had she?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She sent me a letter from jail a few years later about how Jesus had forgiven her and so should I. It felt more like she was sorry about being caught than about me almost dying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The judge called her actions \u201cchilling in their calculation\u201d and sentenced her to eighteen years in prison, with parole possible after twelve.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane cried then. For herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned to look at Jeffery, her son\u2014Felicity\u2019s husband.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stared back at her like she was a ghost.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then stood and walked out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s been years now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tremors are better, but they never fully went away. I\u2019ve learned to type through them, to sign my name despite the jitter, to tell new people, \u201cNo, I\u2019m not nervous. Just\u2026 rewired.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went back to school. Changed my major to criminal justice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It felt right to stand on the other side of the courtroom eventually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I interned with the DA\u2019s office during law school. Helped prep cases. Met victims whose stories made my skin crawl in familiar ways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I never told most of them why I cared so much.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They didn\u2019t need to know I understood how it felt to have your trauma questioned by strangers, by lawyers, by systems happier to poke holes in your story than to hold harm accountable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity and Jeffery moved away. They had twins they named after everyone but Diane. Their kids know me as the aunt who always asks to see the juice box opened first. Who laughs it off and says she\u2019s just picky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day, my mail brought another envelope from a corrections department.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Diane\u2019s first parole hearing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We had the right to attend, to speak, to support or oppose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Felicity and I decided we\u2019d send statements but not sit in the same room as her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wrote my letter slowly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Explained that what happened wasn\u2019t a \u201cmistake,\u201d it was a choice. That my life had been permanently altered. That her actions had radiated out\u2014through my health, my education, my relationships, my sense of safety.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The parole board denied her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLack of genuine remorse,\u201d the report said. \u201cFailure to fully acknowledge harm caused.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She\u2019ll reapply again in two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019ll write the letters again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s a second sentence layered on top of my own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

People love to ask victims about forgiveness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you forgive her?\u201d they\u2019ll say, eyes soft with a kind of voyeuristic hunger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still others will lean on faith language. \u201cForgiveness is for you, not for them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve thought about it a lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What I usually say now is this:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t owe her forgiveness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She planned to kill me. She drugged me. She locked me in a room and tried to let me die so her son\u2019s wedding photos would be unblemished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her choices are hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My healing is mine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some wounds close. Some become part of the architecture of who you are\u2014scar tissue and all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t choose to be the girl whose sister\u2019s wedding turned into a crime scene in under twenty minutes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I did choose what came after.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Law school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Victim advocacy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Boundaries as thick as steel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A life where I get to help other people stand up in court and say, \u201cThis happened to me, and it matters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That\u2019s the part of the story that belongs to me\u2014and that no one ever gets to poison.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I knew something was wrong before my brain would admit it. My sister, Felicity, was halfway down the aisle, veil glowing in the afternoon sun, […]<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":851,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-847","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorised"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/847","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=847"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/847\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":854,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/847\/revisions\/854"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/851"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=847"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=847"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/weheartanimals.info\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=847"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}