I FOUND MY SISTER’S DIARY — SHE’S BEEN DATING MY BOYFRIEND FOR MONTHS
I was cleaning her room when the diary fell off the shelf, its pages splayed open like a confession waiting to be read. My heart thudded as I saw his name — Jason — in her handwriting, again and again, dated weeks before we even started dating.
“He kissed me first,” she’d written, the ink smudged as if from tears. I traced the words with shaking fingers, the paper thin and fragile under my touch. The room smelled like her lavender perfume, sickly sweet now, choking me. I wanted to scream, but my voice was trapped somewhere deep in my chest.
I confronted her later, holding the diary like evidence in a courtroom. “You think I wouldn’t find out?” I spat, my voice trembling. She just stared at me, her face pale but calm. “You were never supposed to know,” she said quietly, her voice steady, like I was the one who’d done something wrong.
Then she pulled out her phone and showed me a string of texts — from Jason. “He’s not yours,” she said, her voice cold. “He never was.”
The doorbell rang, and through the window, I saw his car in the driveway.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My hands were still shaking, holding the flimsy diary like a shield, a useless defense against the truth she’d just slammed into me. The doorbell’s chime echoed the frantic beat of my heart. Jason. He was here. For *me*. Or so I thought until minutes ago.
My sister didn’t flinch. She tucked her phone into her pocket, her gaze steady as she looked towards the door, not me. It was clear: she was expecting him. This wasn’t a visit for *me*. This was a visit for *her*, happening in *my* home.
He walked in, smiling, calling my name, but stopped dead when he saw the two of us standing rigid in the hallway, the air thick with unspoken accusations. His smile faltered, his eyes flicking between me and my sister. He must have seen the fury in my face, the icy calm in hers.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
I didn’t wait. I thrust the diary forward, then the phone I’d snatched from my sister’s hand displaying the texts. “This is what’s going on, Jason,” I said, my voice dangerously low, trembling with the effort not to shatter. “Months? You were with *her* for months? Before *us*? While you were with *me*?”
He looked at the open diary page, then at the texts, his face paling. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t look at me, but at my sister. A silent conversation passed between them, a sickening understanding that twisted the knife in my gut.
My sister finally spoke, her voice still eerily calm. “I told you she’d find out eventually.”
Jason sighed, a sound of weary resignation that somehow felt like another betrayal. He finally met my eyes, and there was no apology there, only pity mixed with something I couldn’t quite name. Guilt? Regret? Not enough of either.
“It’s… complicated,” he started.
“Complicated?” I laughed, a harsh, broken sound. “There’s nothing complicated about lying to someone you claim to care about and sleeping with their sister! For months!”
My sister stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Jason’s arm. “We were together first,” she said softly, directed at him, not me. “Things happened. We tried to make it work. When it didn’t, you were there.” She looked back at me, a flicker of something – triumph? – in her eyes. “He was hurting. I was just… the rebound.”
Rebound. The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. *I* was the rebound. While they had a long, complicated history, I was just the temporary distraction.
The diary fell from my numb fingers, clattering to the floor. The pain was so sharp, so complete, it stole my breath. I looked at Jason, at the sister I thought I knew, standing side-by-side, a united front against *me*.
“Get out,” I whispered, the words barely audible.
Jason looked surprised, then hesitant. My sister’s hand tightened on his arm.
“Get out!” I screamed, my voice finally breaking free, raw with anguish. “Both of you! Get out of my house! Get out of my life!”
Tears streamed down my face, hot and stinging. Jason hesitated for a moment longer, then, guided by my sister’s silent pull, he turned and walked towards the door. He didn’t look back. My sister gave me one last, cool glance before following him out.
The front door closed with a quiet click, but the sound echoed in the sudden silence like a gunshot. I stood alone in the hallway, surrounded by the ghosts of their secrets, the lavender perfume of her betrayal, and the crushing weight of a love I thought was real, now shattered into a million irreparable pieces. The diary lay on the floor between us, an undeniable testament to a history I was never a part of, a future they might still share, and a present where I was left alone with the ruins.