When my half-sister Ava asked me to photograph her wedding for free, I reluctantly agreed—hoping to finally feel like part of the family. I arrived early, worked tirelessly, and asked for nothing in return. But when she told me there wasn’t a seat for me to eat because I was “just the photographer,” I knew I was done.
Our history was distant. My dad left when I was three, and Ava came from his new life with Lorraine. Though he tried to pretend we were one big happy family, Ava and I barely knew each other. We never bonded, never visited, and never celebrated anything together.
Still, when Dad asked me to shoot her wedding—for free—I agreed, against my better judgment. I even brought my boyfriend Jake to help. We worked nonstop that day, capturing every important moment. No thanks, no food, no water.
When I asked where we should sit at the reception, Ava said bluntly, “You’re working. You’re not a guest.” That was the final straw.
I packed up my gear and walked out.
Later, I delivered the unedited photos—no polish, no corrections. Just proof of what I gave before remembering what I deserved. Ava was furious. My dad disappointed. But for the first time, I was firm.
I told them both the truth: I was done being the afterthought. Done earning a seat that was never mine. From now on, I’d choose my own family—those who show up, and make space at the table.