The security guard in the lobby of Ethan’s high-rise office building greeted me with a familiar smile and waved me through. As the elevator ascended to the twelfth floor, I studied my reflection in the polished chrome walls, attempting to smooth the worry lines that had etched themselves between my brows. In my hand, I clutched a bag containing the gourmet sandwich Ethan loved from the deli near my office.
When I stepped into the reception area, Ethan’s assistant, Ashley, looked up from her screen, her eyes widening in alarm.
— Jessica! We… we weren’t expecting you. — Her gaze flickered nervously from me to Ethan’s closed office door and back again. — Ethan is, um, in a meeting at the moment.
— That’s alright — I said, hoisting the bag. — I just brought him some food. I don’t mind waiting.
Ashley shot up from her chair, moving to block my path.
— Actually, he left specific instructions not to be disturbed. Perhaps I could just let him know you stopped by?
Something in her frantic demeanor confirmed my deepest fears.
— Is he in there by himself, Ashley?
Her hesitation was my answer. Before she could formulate a response, I strode past her and shoved open the heavy oak door to Ethan’s office.
The image that confronted me was seared into my brain for all time. Ethan was leaning back against his mahogany desk, his hands gripping my sister’s waist. Her arms were coiled around his neck, their mouths locked together in a fervent, passionate kiss. They were so engrossed that they didn’t notice my presence at first, granting me several agonizing seconds to absorb the horrific tableau: Megan’s skirt hiked high on her thighs, Ethan’s tie askew, the practiced ease of their embrace speaking to countless prior encounters.
When the door clicked shut behind me, they finally broke apart. Three faces, frozen in a silent scene of utter shock.
— Jessica… — Ethan was the first to find his voice, instinctively straightening his tie. — This is not what it looks like.
Megan, however, didn’t bother with such a flimsy deception. Instead, she lifted her chin, a flicker of defiance in her eyes.
— We didn’t mean for this to happen. It just… happened.
A strange, icy calm descended upon me.
— How long?
Ethan shot a panicked look at Megan before turning back to me.
— Jessica, let’s talk about this in private.
— How long? — My voice was eerily steady.
— For months — Megan answered, her tone flat. — Since the engagement party.
For months. Nearly the entire duration of our engagement. While I had been meticulously selecting wedding invitations and agonizing over floral arrangements, they had been systematically betraying me. Ethan retreated behind his desk, creating a physical barrier as if he were preparing for a hostile corporate negotiation.
— I never intended for this to happen, Jessica. Feelings can change. I was going to tell you… after.
— After what? After the wedding? After we got back from our honeymoon?
— I was trying to find the right moment — he said, his voice carrying the polished, disingenuous smoothness he used in tense client meetings.
The lunch bag slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.
— I trusted you. Both of you.
Megan, at least, had the grace to look genuinely uncomfortable.
— It just happened, Jess. We tried to fight it.
— Don’t call me Jess. — The childhood nickname felt like a fresh violation. — And things don’t ‘just happen’ for four months. You made choices. Every single secret phone call. Every lie. Every single time you looked me in the eye knowing exactly what you were doing behind my back.
Ethan stabbed at the intercom button on his desk phone.
— Ashley, could you come in here, please?
Moments later, Ashley appeared, her gaze fixed firmly on the carpet.
— Please show Ms. Miller out. She’s… upset.
— I can show myself out — I said, my dignity somehow holding together even as my world shattered. — You two deserve each other.
The tears didn’t come until I was alone in the elevator, descending twelve floors in a silent, mirrored box. By the time I reached the parking garage, I was gasping for air between convulsive sobs. The drive back to my apartment is a complete blur. My only clear memory is of calling my mother from the cold tile of my bathroom floor, my words rendered incoherent by the force of my grief.
My parents arrived within an hour, using their emergency key when I was too broken to answer the door. My mother enveloped me in her arms as I recounted the entire sordid story, while my father paced the living room, his face growing darker with every detail I revealed.
— I’ll kill him — he growled, his hand clutching his chest. — Both of them.
— Robert, your blood pressure — my mother cautioned, though her own expression was a mask of cold fury.
The subsequent days were a fog of excruciating pain. My mother took on the task of calling vendors to cancel the wedding, while my father managed the financial fallout. I returned the engagement ring to Ethan’s building, leaving it with the doorman because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing his face. When I went to his apartment to retrieve my belongings, I discovered that Megan had already moved in. The majority of her wardrobe filled the closet, and framed photos of her family had replaced mine on the bookshelves. Ethan’s email regarding the division of our shared property was brutally efficient, coolly noting that Megan had assisted him in cataloging the items that were mine.
The true depth of their deception continued to unravel. I learned from mutual acquaintances that they had been arranging clandestine meetings whenever I was working late or away on business trips. Megan had pursued him with a calculated determination, manufacturing excuses to be alone with him, sending him provocative texts and photos when she knew I wasn’t around. The scandal ripped through our social network. Some friends rallied to my side, while others, wary of Ethan’s influence in the Denver business community, sided with them. Several confessed that they had observed an inappropriate flirtation between Ethan and Megan but had chosen not to intervene. Their cowardice was a secondary wound, stinging almost as sharply as the initial betrayal.
My mother was my anchor during those bleak months. She brought over meals when I had no appetite, patiently listened to my tear-filled tirades, and stayed over on nights when the crushing loneliness felt unbearable. She made several valiant attempts to broker a peace between Megan and me, arranging family dinners that invariably dissolved into strained silence or erupted into bitter confrontations.
During one such disastrous meal, Megan’s composure finally cracked when I ignored her request to pass the salt.
— You always had everything first, Jessica! The best grades, the career, the downtown loft. For once in my life, I got something before you did!
— My fiancé was not a trophy to be won — I retorted, my voice trembling with rage. — He was the man I loved and was planning to spend my life with.
My mother set her fork down with a sharp click.
— Megan Claire Miller, you will apologize to your sister this instant.
— For what? For being honest? Ethan chose me. He loves me now.
I stood up, tossing my napkin onto my plate.
— I can’t do this anymore, Mom. I’m sorry.
That was the last family dinner I ever attended when Megan was present. The immense stress of the feud between his daughters aggravated my father’s existing heart condition, necessitating new medications and more frequent doctor visits. My mother seemed to age years in a matter of months, the worry lines around her eyes deepening as she fought a losing battle to hold her fractured family together.
Six months after the discovery, I reached my emotional nadir. My therapist diagnosed me with clinical depression and prescribed medication. My performance at work plummeted as I struggled to concentrate, culminating in the loss of a major account after I broke down crying during a client presentation. My boss gently suggested I take a leave of absence, but I knew that remaining in Denver, a city where every street corner held a painful memory, would only prolong my agony.