When my sister Claire got engaged to a guy from a retreat, I was thrilled for her. But as her wedding day neared, her odd behavior screamed something was wrong. When our dad took the mic at the ceremony, the truth he shared shook us to the core.
Claire’s always been a hopeless romantic, two years older than me, living for love stories. She’d read romance novels like they were life guides, believing in soulmates. Growing up, she’d write epic tales of love while I stuck to homework and plans. We worked because we were opposites—her dreams added magic to my logic, and I kept her from flying too far. Claire fell hard, sketching wedding plans with boys she’d just met, but her faith in love stayed strong, even when those crushes faded.
A few years back, Claire’s heart got wrecked. She’d been with Matt for two years, dreaming of a future, when she learned he’d been cheating, calling her “too dreamy.” It broke her. She shut out our family, dodged my calls, and quit her book club. When I’d visit, she’d brush me off, looking like a ghost. Watching her fade hurt more than I could say.
After months of hiding, Claire found a wellness retreat in California to reset. “I need to find myself,” she told me, her voice heavy. We hoped it would revive her. She came back after three weeks, looking brighter, and told us about Ethan, a kind guy she’d met. “He sees me,” she said, glowing. I wasn’t shocked—she’s a charmer—but their engagement after two months felt rushed.
Claire said Ethan’s visa issues forced a quick wedding. “It’s small,” she said, showing a simple ring. “His friends are coming from overseas, and he’s got work to finish there after.” We hadn’t met Ethan, which was weird, but Claire dodged questions. “He’s shy,” she’d say, or “He hates photos.” She seemed so happy after Matt’s betrayal that we didn’t push, not wanting to dim her light.
The wedding day was beautiful, with a cozy chapel full of flowers. But Claire was off, pacing in her gown, babbling about Ethan’s family and their “big entrance.” She wanted solitude, so we left her in the bridal suite. As guests arrived, I saw only our family and Claire’s friends—no one from Ethan’s side. My gut twisted, but I hoped they were delayed.
Claire walked down the aisle, smiling but tense. At the altar, she stood alone. The groom’s music played, but no one came. My heart sank. Then Dad stood, holding a pink journal, and grabbed the mic. “This wedding’s canceled,” he said. “Ethan’s not real.” He showed the journal, filled with Claire’s letters to a made-up man. Guests whispered and left, stunned.
Dad had found the journal in the bridal suite, open among tissues. It was full of Claire’s imagined life with Ethan—dates, arguments, and a love that didn’t exist. Claire sobbed, “He was real to me!” as I held her. Therapy showed a trauma disorder from Matt’s betrayal, her mind crafting Ethan to escape pain. With help, Claire healed, reconnecting with friends and joining a support group.
Years later, she met Noah at a drawing class. Their love grew slowly, real and strong. At their quiet backyard wedding, Claire’s eyes locked on Noah’s, both tearful and true. My heart soared—she’d found her real love, not a fantasy.
