Chapter 2 — Erased from the Frame

The photographer began gathering the immediate family near the cake table for the official portrait. Michael spotted me across the room, his face lit up, and he waved me over, mouthing, Come on.

I took a step out of the shadows. My Aunt Linda — a woman who measured human worth in stock options and country-club memberships — intercepted me with the speed of a viper in silk.

“Step aside!” she laughed, a bright, brittle sound that didn’t reach her eyes, and put a hand firmly on my chest. It was a shove. “Oh, Thomas, don’t be dense,” she said, lowering her voice but holding the smile for the cameras.

“We only want the successful people in the shot. It’s for posterity. We don’t need a reminder of… well, of your choices.”

Michael saw it and tried to step out of the line, his face flushing. “Aunt Linda, stop. He’s my brother. He belongs in the photo.”

“He’s a grunt, Michael,” my father cut in, smoothing his lapels as he took his place beside the bride, speaking to the air as if I were a bad smell. “Let him stand in the back where he belongs.”