When I first introduced Megan to Ethan during a family dinner, her compliments toward him were effusive, almost embarrassingly so. I registered the way her hand lingered on his arm as she laughed at one of his stories, but I brushed it aside as Megan simply deploying her characteristic charm. We hosted our engagement party at my parents’ sprawling Craftsman-style home. Megan was a blur of activity, assisting my mother with every detail, from stringing delicate fairy lights throughout the backyard to creating stunning floral centerpieces. All evening, I noticed her gaze fixed on Ethan from across the garden. Whenever our eyes met, she would flash a quick, brilliant smile and raise her champagne flute in a toast.
Later that night, as the last of the guests were making their departures, my mother gently pulled me into the kitchen.
— Jessica, darling, I can’t help but notice that Megan seems utterly captivated by Ethan — she said, her voice laced with caution as she carefully transferred leftover canapés into storage containers.
— Oh, she’s just being friendly, Mom — I responded, rinsing glasses in the sink. — Besides, she’s seeing that medical device salesman, Mike.
My mother nodded, though her expression remained unconvinced.
— Just be watchful, honey. You know how your sister can get when you have something she finds desirable.
I gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek and told her not to worry.
— We’re grown-ups now, Mom. Megan is happy for me. I’m positive of it.
How profoundly mistaken I was. How utterly, devastatingly wrong.
Three months before we were scheduled to be married, I began to perceive subtle shifts in Ethan’s behavior. He started staying at the office later, his phone constantly lighting up with texts at all hours, which he attributed to overseas clients. Our customary Friday date nights were increasingly postponed because of last-minute “emergency” meetings. When we were together, his presence felt fragmented; his attention was perpetually diverted by his phone, and he offered only cursory engagement in our conversations.
More alarmingly, he started to find fault with the very qualities he had once professed to adore. My laugh, which he used to call infectious, was now suddenly too boisterous for public settings. A favorite cobalt blue dress he had once raved about now, according to him, made me look pale and washed out. Even my cherished habit of reading in bed, a quirk he’d once found endearing, became an irritant because the lamplight supposedly disturbed his sleep.
Concurrently, Megan began to call me with increasing frequency, her inquiries always framed as questions about wedding logistics.
— I just want to ensure everything is absolutely perfect for my big sister — she would coo, even though my mother was orchestrating the majority of the planning. Megan would then volunteer to attend meetings with vendors that my demanding work schedule forced me to miss.
One Thursday evening, Ethan and I were having dinner at a high-end steakhouse downtown. He barely looked up from his plate, his responses to my anecdotes about my week at work reduced to monosyllabic grunts. When his phone vibrated against the table for what felt like the hundredth time, my patience wore thin.
— Is there a more compelling event happening somewhere else? — I asked, striving for a light tone that belied my mounting frustration.
— Sorry, it’s just work stuff — he mumbled, finally placing the device face down. — You know how it is before a major product launch.
Later that week, while sorting his laundry, I detected the scent of an unfamiliar perfume on the collar of one of his dress shirts. It was a heavy, floral fragrance, a stark contrast to the light, citrusy scent I wore. When I confronted him, Ethan explained that he’d been in a series of meetings with a potential investor, a woman named Rebecca Mills, who apparently had a penchant for overpowering perfume and had embraced him in a hug as they parted ways. The story seemed plausible enough. I desperately wanted to believe it.
The next morning, over coffee, I confided my anxieties to my friend Chloe.
— Every couple gets the pre-wedding jitters — Chloe assured me, swirling the foam in her latte. — Parker and I argued nonstop for the entire month before our ceremony, and now look at us, five years married.
But the persistent, tight knot in my stomach refused to loosen. My mother also picked up on my distress during our weekly lunch.
— You seem a million miles away, sweetheart — she observed, her hand reaching across the table to cover mine. — Is it just wedding stress, or is something else going on?
I manufactured a smile.
— Just busy with the final preparations. Everything’s fine.
But it wasn’t. I began to pour more energy into our relationship, worried that I had perhaps become complacent and was taking Ethan for granted. I scheduled a couples’ spa day, purchased new lingerie, and tried to master his favorite gourmet meals. Yet, the more I tried to close the distance between us, the more remote he seemed to become.
Then came the appointment for the wedding cake tasting, an event Ethan had been excitedly anticipating for weeks. That morning, he called to cancel, citing an unavoidable, sudden meeting with his investors.
— Megan can go with you — he suggested casually. — She knows my preferences anyway.
A cold dread washed over me as I ended the call. How could my sister possibly know my fiancé’s cake preferences better than I did? Despite my unease, I accepted her offer to accompany me.
The following day, as I was detailing Ethan’s car in preparation for a dinner party we were hosting, my hand brushed against something lodged between the passenger seat and the center console. It was an earring—a delicate, dangling silver piece with a small sapphire. I recognized it instantly. It belonged to Megan. She had worn that exact pair to our engagement party; they were a gift from our grandmother.
When I presented the earring to Ethan that evening, his expression remained a mask of perfect composure.
— Oh, your sister must have lost that when I gave her a lift to the florist last week — he said, his voice smooth as silk. — She did mention she was missing one.
— You never told me you gave Megan a ride to the florist — I stated, my own voice a barely audible whisper.
— Didn’t I? Must have slipped my mind. It was hardly a significant event.
When I called Megan, her story mirrored his with unnerving precision. Too much precision.
— Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been searching for that earring everywhere! Ethan was so sweet to give me a ride since my car was in the shop.
That night, sleep eluded me completely, my mind a chaotic storm of racing thoughts. Had they coordinated their alibis? Was I descending into paranoia? The stress caused my appetite to vanish, and dark, hollow circles bloomed beneath my eyes. I began seeing a therapist, a secret I kept from Ethan.
Three weeks before the wedding, Ethan proposed that we postpone the ceremony.
— I’m concerned about you, Jessica. You haven’t been yourself lately. Maybe we’re moving too fast.
I dissolved into tears, pleading with him to tell me what was wrong, what I had done, what I could do to fix it. He held me and murmured reassurances, but his eyes were distant and empty. That same night, I awoke at 3 a.m. to discover his side of the bed cold and vacant. I crept down the hallway and heard his hushed tones emanating from the guest bedroom.
— Not right now. She’ll hear us… I know, I know. Soon, I promise.
The next day, I decided to surprise Ethan at his office with his favorite lunch. My father, Robert, called just as I was leaving my apartment.
— Jessica, are you eating enough? Your mother tells me you’ve lost a lot of weight. We’re worried about you.
— I’m fine, Dad. Just pre-wedding nerves. I’m actually on my way to bring Ethan lunch right now.
— Good. That boy had better be treating my daughter like a queen.
If he only knew.