I GRABBED MY SISTER’S DIARY AND DISCOVERED THE SECRET SHE’D BEEN SCRIBBLING ABOUT MY FIANCE.
The moment I opened the diary, my hands trembled as the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. I flipped through the pages, the ink smudged from what looked like tear stains, until I found his name. “Every time he smiles at me, I feel like I’m betraying her,” she’d written. My chest tightened, and the room smelled faintly of her lavender perfume, a scent I used to find comforting.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” her voice cut through the silence like a knife, and I spun around to see her standing in the doorway, her face pale.
“Was it worth it?” I choked out, clutching the diary so hard the edges dug into my palms. Her silence was worse than an answer.
The clock on the wall ticked louder, each second a reminder of the life I thought I had. I backed away, the diary slipping from my hands, as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway shattered the tension.
He was home, and I finally understood why he had lingered at family dinners.
👇 Full story continued in the comments…The car door slammed, and then his familiar footsteps sounded on the porch. My sister didn’t move from the doorway, her eyes fixed on me, a mixture of fear and resignation on her face. The diary lay open on the floor between us, a damning witness.
The front door opened, and his cheerful voice called out, “Hey, honey! I’m home!” It used to be the sound that brought warmth to my heart. Now, it felt like fingernails on a chalkboard. He walked into the living room, briefcase in hand, and stopped dead when he saw the scene: me, pale and shaking, my sister frozen in the doorway, and the diary on the floor.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his smile faltering. He looked between us, confusion clouding his features, but there was a flicker of something else too – a nervous shift in his posture, a slight widening of his eyes.
I couldn’t speak. The words were lodged in my throat, buried under layers of shock and pain. My sister finally found her voice, barely a whisper. “Nothing,” she said, but her eyes pleaded with me to keep quiet.
But the silence, her earlier silence, had already said everything. I bent down, not taking my eyes off his face, and picked up the diary. I held it out to him, the page open to my sister’s confession.
“This is what’s going on,” I managed to say, my voice trembling. “She’s in love with you. And she says… she says you smile at her. Every time.”
His face drained of color. He looked at the diary, then at my sister, then back at me. The nervous flicker intensified, turning into outright panic. “What? No, that’s crazy! She’s your sister!”
My sister finally moved, rushing forward. “It’s not true! I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, my voice gaining strength, laced with icy calm. “Don’t lie anymore. Not to me. Not to him.” I looked at my fiancé, his face a mask of guilt and denial. “Is it true?” I demanded. “Did you encourage this? Did you know?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, his usual easy confidence gone. “I… I didn’t mean for anything to happen,” he stammered. “She’s just… she’s always been so sweet. And lonely, you know? I just tried to be kind.”
Kindness. The word felt like a mockery. I looked at my sister, tears streaming down her face now. She wasn’t denying it anymore, just standing there, broken. I looked back at him. “Kind?” I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Is that what you call leading on my sister? Making her think there was something more, while you were planning a wedding with me?”
The puzzle pieces clicked into place: the lingering glances I hadn’t wanted to see, the extra time spent talking to her at family gatherings, the way she sometimes seemed flustered around him. I had dismissed it as her being shy, him being friendly. I had been a fool.
I closed the diary gently and hugged it to my chest, feeling the weight of the betrayal. My voice was quiet now, steady with a resolve I hadn’t known I possessed. “Get out,” I said, looking at my fiancé.
He stared at me, shocked. “What? Wait, we can talk about this…”
“No,” I interrupted. “There’s nothing to talk about. I can’t marry someone who would do this. Not to me, and certainly not to my sister.” I then turned my gaze to my sister, my heart aching with a different kind of pain. “And you,” I said, my voice softer but equally firm. “I… I don’t even know what to say. How could you?”
She sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So, so sorry.”
I took a deep breath, the lavender scent of her perfume now feeling like a painful reminder of our broken bond. “Leave,” I told my fiancé again, gesturing towards the door. “Pack your things. I’ll stay at a friend’s tonight.”
He stood there for another moment, a mix of defeat and anger on his face, before turning and walking towards the bedroom to gather his belongings.
My sister remained rooted to the spot, weeping. I wanted to rage at her, to demand answers, but seeing her like that, the years of sisterhood warred with the fresh wound of betrayal. I knew our relationship was irrevocably changed.
I didn’t speak to her as I grabbed my keys and purse. I didn’t have the words yet. As I walked out the front door, leaving the two of them behind in the wreckage of our lives, I knew it would take a long time for the scent of lavender to smell comforting again. The clock in the hallway ticked on, marking the seconds of the end of one chapter and the uncertain beginning of another.