When my sister Beth told us she was engaged after meeting someone at a wellness retreat, I was over the moon. I clapped my hands and hugged her tight, thinking, She finally found love again. But as her wedding day got closer, something felt… off. And deep down, I knew—something was terribly wrong.
Let me tell you a bit about my sister Beth.
She’s two years older than me, and she’s always been what I like to call beautifully intense. She’s the kind of person who believes in magic—not the fairy dust kind, but the magic in moments, in people, in the world. Beth sees beauty in everything. She reads romance novels like they’re life guides, and she truly believes that everyone is meant to have their own perfect fairy tale.
While I’ve always been the practical, plan-ahead type, Beth was the dreamer. She’d spend hours in her room writing stories about enchanted castles and true love’s kiss. I’d be at the kitchen table doing homework and creating spreadsheets for my future career. But we balanced each other out.
She brought color into my carefully organized world. And I helped keep her grounded when she drifted a little too far into fantasy.
But here’s the thing about Beth—she falls in love fast. Like, heart-racing, world-stopping, fireworks-in-the-sky kind of fast. In high school, she’d meet a guy on Monday and by Friday she’d be doodling their future kids’ names in the margins of her notebook.
Most of those love stories fizzled out. But Beth never stopped believing. She held onto the idea that one day, she’d find someone who truly saw her, loved her, and stayed.
Then came Marcus.
Beth dated Marcus for almost two years. I had never seen her so full of hope. She talked about wedding themes, baby names, and the cozy little house they’d buy. She was head-over-heels, and she believed he was the one.
Then, everything crashed.
One afternoon, Beth showed up at my apartment with red-rimmed eyes and shaky hands. Her voice cracked as she said, “He cheated. With a coworker. For months.”
I stood there, frozen, as she told me Marcus had been calling her “clingy” behind her back. Said she “lived in a fantasy world.”
That broke her.
After that, Beth disappeared into herself. She stopped texting, stopped calling our parents, and ghosted her beloved book club. I’d try to visit, but she always had a reason to cancel. “I’m tired.” “Busy.” “Next week, maybe.”
It was like watching her fade away.
Six months later, she finally reached out. We met for coffee, and she looked worn out, like all the light had drained from her.
“I need to figure out who I am without someone else,” she said, her fingers wrapped tightly around her cup. “There’s this wellness retreat in Arizona… it’s supposed to help with healing and self-discovery.”
We all agreed it was a good idea. She needed time to find herself again.
She was gone for three weeks. When she came back, it was like seeing a spark flicker back to life. She was calmer, lighter—more like the old Beth.
That’s when she told us about him.
“I met someone,” she said, grinning like she held the universe’s best-kept secret. “His name is Nathaniel. He’s kind, thoughtful… he really sees me.”
Of course she met someone. Beth was beautiful, sweet, and had this enchanting way of making people feel like they were the only one in the room. I wasn’t surprised. But what did surprise me was how fast things moved.
Just two months after she got back, she waltzed into Sunday dinner wearing a soft pink dress and a simple engagement ring.
“It happened so fast,” she said, glowing. “But when you know, you know. He proposed during a sunset hike. It was perfect.”
She explained that Nathaniel was from overseas and had a tricky work visa situation. They needed to marry soon so he could stay while they worked things out.
“It’ll just be a small ceremony,” she told us. “Close friends and family. His groomsmen are flying in from abroad, but then he has to go back overseas for work.”
Oddly, none of us had met him yet. Every time I asked for a photo or tried to set up a dinner, Beth would give some whimsical excuse.
“He thinks photos steal a moment’s magic,” she’d say with a laugh.
Or, “He’s shy. I want your first meeting to be special.”
Looking back… there were so many red flags. Why all the mystery? Why the rush? But we all held our questions back. After the heartbreak she went through with Marcus, we didn’t want to ruin this happiness.
The morning of the wedding, I got to the little chapel early. It was charming—white roses everywhere, soft music playing, everything glowing with romance.
But as soon as I walked into the bridal suite, I knew something was off.
Beth looked stunning—curled hair, glowing makeup—but her energy was frantic. She paced in her heels, talking so fast it made my head spin.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she said, biting her lip. “They’re so proper—I’ve been practicing my handshake.”
Then without pausing, “You’ll finally meet him today. He’s sweet, but crowds make him nervous. That’s why his groomsmen are doing most of the talking.”
She laughed nervously. “They’ve planned a whole symbolic entrance. It represents the joining of two souls across continents. Isn’t that romantic?”
She was jittery—too jittery. I tried to stay close, calm her down, but Beth insisted on being alone. “I need a moment to soak it all in,” she said, practically pushing me, Mom, and her maid of honor out.
We left her there. And then the guests began arriving.
I scanned the crowd—our family, her friends from work and book club—but not a single face I didn’t recognize. No groomsmen. No foreign guests. No Nathaniel.
The music started.
Beth walked down the aisle, looking like a real-life princess. Her smile was huge, but something about it felt… fragile.
She reached the altar. The music changed for the groom’s entrance.
We all turned toward the doors.
And waited.
And waited.
But no one walked in.
No Nathaniel. No best men. Nothing.
Then our dad stood up slowly, holding something pink in his hand. My heart dropped.
It was Beth’s leather journal.
He walked to the altar, took the microphone, and said, voice trembling, “I’m sorry. I’m honestly shocked right now, but this wedding needs to be canceled. I need you all to please leave. Now.”
The room filled with gasps. Everyone stared.
He held up the journal and said, “There is no groom. Nathaniel isn’t real. There are no groomsmen. No family flying in. I found this journal in Beth’s suite. It’s full of letters to a man who doesn’t exist.”
He’d gone to check on her before the ceremony and found the room empty—makeup everywhere, tissues on the floor, and that pink journal lying open.
Inside were pages and pages addressed to “Nathaniel.”
Imagined dates. Fake arguments. Descriptions of romantic walks. Entire conversations—detailed and emotional—with a man who wasn’t real.
Beth had made him up.
Dad turned toward Beth. “She needs help,” he said softly. “Not applause. Not congratulations. She needs our support.”
Beth broke.
“You ruined everything!” she cried, voice cracking. “You don’t understand! He was real to me! Everything we had was real!”
Guests began leaving quietly, whispering, glancing at their phones. But I couldn’t move. All I could see was Beth, alone at the altar, sobbing into her veil.
I walked up the steps and sat beside her. I didn’t care who saw.
She collapsed into me, crying harder than I’d ever seen anyone cry.
“He felt so real to me, Stacey,” she whispered. “I could picture his face. Hear his voice. I felt his hand in mine. How could that not be real?”
We got Beth help.
It was a long journey. Therapy, doctors, long nights, and hard truths. She was diagnosed with a trauma response and dissociative coping disorder. Her heartbreak from Marcus, the isolation—it all led her to create Nathaniel as a way to feel loved and safe.
It wasn’t easy, but she started healing.
She reconnected with friends. Joined a support group. And eventually—slowly—she started dating again. This time, with guidance and honesty.
Four years later, she met Jordan.
He was gentle, thoughtful—a quiet software engineer who loved her creative, whimsical heart. They built something real, step by step.
Last spring, they got married. The ceremony was small, just in our parents’ backyard.
When Beth walked down that grassy aisle, she looked straight at Jordan, who waited for her with happy tears in his eyes.
This time, her fairy tale was real.
And she finally got her happily ever after.
