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    If there's one thing I have always been able to count on, it's that my mum's cooking will always bring a sense of comfort. Whatever she decides to cook: homemade pizza, curry, lasagne, or a roast dinner, it always ends up being the best thing ever, and forever comforting. 

Some Monday mornings, my dad would drop off food at seven in the morning that Mum's batch cooked for me on his way to work. Some weekends, I'd end up getting a lift with him on a Friday afternoon and staying the weekend, going back with him bright and early Monday, just so I could see them and eat Mum's food. She would always cook the main meal and I'd end up baking some variation of dessert for everyone; the dream team, as my dad calls us.

I finish my butter chicken and put the cutlery in the bowl properly.

"Our eldest girl is going to be married this time tomorrow!" Mum squeals as she gets up from the table and pours herself a second glass of wine.

"I'm not surprised you're the first one out of the three of us, Kenna," Luke says.

"Why? Because you can't get anyone to stick around for longer than a night?" Dad jokes.

I laugh, as does Mum, but Luke acts offended and sips his beer.

"Hey, if any of us in this house is the surprising one, it's you, Dad. You work in politics and you're still happily married," Luke retorts.

"Forty years together, thirty-five married and happily as ever," Dad boasts. "Your grandparents never thought we'd make it when we turned up to dinner one night and told them we'd booked our wedding when we were twenty-one. Can't say I'm not constantly sitting on a 'I told you so'."

I giggle. "And every time they look at you both you can see their rolling eyes."

Dad stands up, fully pulls his tie off and then pats Mum on the butt as he walks past her to get a second beer. "As usual, that was a superb dinner, Sarah. Go and relax and I'll wash up."

"You mean put it in the dishwasher, right?" Luke's sarcasm is really thick.

"I have to empty the last lot, put the stuff back in, and you just volunteered to help. Then we'll dish up your mother's pavlova while they rest in the lounge." Dad claps Luke on the shoulder.

"That gives us a chance to chat, Kenna. I need to ask you something," Mum says, her Kiwi accent getting thicker with each sip of wine she takes. It makes me smile.

"Sure," I answer and follow her through with my coke in hand. She stops me in the lounge, which she's midway through painting in a beige-brown colour, and I know the sofas are being changed for new ones once she's painted. Mum's always redecorating or having something new done to this house. Six months ago it was the bathroom upstairs, now it's the lounge. Eventually, she'll get bored enough and run out of the house to sort out so she'll find a new hobby – maybe she'll start a side hustle as a jewellery maker, she loves making bits and pieces with jade from New Zealand.

"Sweetheart, I want to ask – are you sure about this wedding tomorrow?" she asks.

I furrow my brows at her. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Mum sighs, her dyed black hair falling in front of her face. While I embrace the ginger, she hates it, though she suits black hair too. "You've been with Courtney for a year, sweetheart, I just... worry."

I smile. "Mum, honestly, I'm fine. I'm happy with her."

"Something in my gut is telling me to worry about you, darling. Maybe it's mother's intuition, or maybe I'm just going nuts in my old age plus your dad going for party leader and everything. I don't know but I'm worried." She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. "It's been six years, I know, but after Elliott—" She stops. We both know where she was going.

I inhale, hold it for a second and breathe. This is always a heavy subject. "I think he'd be happy for me, I really do. I followed the business plan he left and made a little life for myself after. After a while, I kind of see him as in a better place – cliché as it is – because he wanted to leave this world."

"I know, but that doesn't mean you can't mourn him, or be angry or anything. Especially after what happened to you as well... I'm just worried. As is a mother's right. One day, when you have kids, you'll understand."

I laugh. "Maybe. I've got the bakery to worry about for a while still before I worry about kids. I promise you, Mum, I'm okay. It was a shock being back on the beach and seeing Cameron when I saw him at the beach, but I'm fine. In a way, I'll always mourn Elliott because I miss him, and what happened to him shouldn't have happened, but I'm also at peace for him."

She stares at me for a good few seconds, rubbing her hand on my arms, doing the motherly thing she does, as Luke calls it.

"Where's Lily, anyway?" I ask. "Thought she was going to be home for your butter chicken – it's her favourite as well."

Mum shrugs, quickly realising my want to move the conversation on. "She would've finished work a few hours ago, so I don't know. Haven't heard from her. I'm a bit pissed off, actually; asked her to be home for your night."

"It's Lily, she'll be home when she's ready, I suppose."

Mum scoffs as Dad walks in with two bowls of Mum's famous pavlova – topped with mango and passionfruit. "She better be, she's the maid of honour." He passes me a bowl.

"Thank you! My favourite!"

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    The doorbell goes off later. I'm already in my pyjamas, a glass of champagne in my hand, and nearly ready for bed. Assuming it's Lily, I carry on through to the lounge as Mum opens the door.

"Cameron?" Mum asks.

My ears prick up like a cat, wondering what he's doing here. I assume for Luke.

"Hey, Sarah," he answers.

I put my glass down on the coffee table and reach for the TV remote. Dad's working upstairs in his office and Luke is playing an online game in his room.

"Kenna?" Cameron appears in the doorway.

I stand back up, confusion running through my veins. "Cam? You not here for Luke?"

He shakes his head, eyes running up and down at my pyjama choice. They're a silky white set with 'bride' written across the left chest. For a second, his eyes go back over the top, and I'm aware of him, but he quickly snaps up to my eyes.

"What's going on?" I ask.

This is it, isn't it? The moment in the films when he sweeps me off my feet with a love confession, right?

Do I want that? I don't know. There's way too much under the bridge with Cameron to even consider it.

"I don't even know how to..." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "This is... I've been suspicious for a while, so I've sort of been following them, but couldn't get proof till today. Well, yesterday and today. When we met yesterday, I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to have a bit more concrete evidence before telling you."

"Tell me what? Cam, what're you on about?"

His eyes never leave mine, and the spot between his eyes is pinching together. He's stressed. This is the same look he gave me when I woke up after he saved my life. After Elliott died, that day was the day that changed everything. I hate that look.

Cameron hands over a brown envelope. It's got my name scrawled on it in his handwriting. "I was going to just post this through the door, but it didn't seem right."

"What is this? Is this to do with Elliott? You, him and Luke were best friends and all—"

Cameron shakes his head. "No, nothing to do with him. It's Courtney."

I narrow my eyes. "You've never met her."

"Well, I've seen her, and seen photos. Just... please look in there."

I do as he says and open the envelope. When I pull the contents out, it's a few sheets of paper with photos printed on. They look like they've come from a phone camera and enlarged.

I look at them one by one; Courtney is in every single one, in different places. Outside the hotel we're getting married in tomorrow, in a hotel room – the same hotel we're getting married in – at the window with someone else.

With my sister. With Lily.

"Huh?" I whisper.

Cameron gulps so loud – it's the only noise in the room.

There are more photos; one in her car with Lily. They're both smiling in one photo, the next one is them kissing with Lily on top of my fiancée in the driver's seat.

"Are you... this isn't... Lily?" I stammer.

Cameron looks into my eyes, serious to serious for two seconds.

They say when your heart breaks, it feels like your bubble is crashing around you, suffocating and slowly killing you while the outside world continues like nothing is wrong. Tears spill from my eyes and drop from my chin as I stare at the photos once more.

How could this happen? My sister, the one who I looked out for growing up because she's the baby of the family. She's my maid of honour at my wedding to Courtney tomorrow.

This isn't true.

Instead of beating around the bush anymore, I look across at Cameron and laugh. "Why are you doing this, huh?"

He furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Did you get good at Photoshop in the past six years, Cam? Why are you doing this? Do you fancy her or something? You know Courtney likes girls, right? Or are you trying to go back six years to that night?"

"Kenna, I'm not trying to do anything here except show you the truth. You said she took forever yesterday. Did she look different when she came out of the hotel? Lily's not even here, right? Courtney's in the hotel right now, isn't she? So is Lily; I just took that photo now."

"Why are you following them?"

"So you don't go to that wedding tomorrow and make a stupid mistake!" His voice is louder than usual, but he's not yelling at me. The seriousness clouds over his hazel eyes; he means this.

There's a moment of doubt before anything crumbles down; when the cards shake before they tumble down, and a silent moment before the roar of applause. I fall silent before the world crumbles around me.

"Kenna, I'm so sorry. Courtney and Lily are having an affair. She's cheating on you."

Those words are my undoing and a wail comes out of my mouth. 

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