I still remember the moment my life felt like it was finally coming together. I was 35, working as a software developer, living in a decent apartment, and for the first time ever, I was actually saving money—real money. Every month, my bank account grew, and with it, my dream of owning a house felt closer and closer.
No wild vacations. No fancy dinners. Just careful budgeting and quiet Friday nights with takeout and code.
I was single, but not sad. I had my goals, my work, and my family. That was enough. At least, it was—until Monica called.
“Maddie,” she squealed into the phone, her voice crackling with excitement. “I met someone. Like really met someone. He’s the one.”
I curled up on my couch with a cup of tea and smiled. Monica was always the romantic one. At 28, she’d had her fair share of dramatic relationships—love at first sight that ended in heartbreak.
But this time… her voice sounded different. Steadier. Sure.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
She didn’t hold back. His name was David. He lived in New York. Had a great job. Owned a house. “We met online,” she said, “but he visits me all the time. Maddie, I’ve never felt like this before.”
It made me happy to hear her so excited. Our family hadn’t had the best luck with love. Dad left when I was thirteen and Monica was just six. One day he was laughing with us at dinner, and the next—his closet was empty. Just gone.
Mom never explained much. “Your father just… wasn’t ready for this life,” she’d say. “But we have each other. That’s what matters.”
And we really did have each other. Mom worked two jobs to keep us afloat, and her sisters, Aunt Lisa and Aunt Sarah, were always there to help. I became the responsible one—getting Monica to school, helping with homework, and eventually pitching in with bills when I got my first job.
So yeah, maybe that’s why I’ve always felt so protective of Monica.
Months after that call, at our usual Sunday dinner, Monica dropped a bombshell.
“He proposed!” she shouted, holding up a sparkling ring.
We all gasped. Mom’s eyes teared up. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s beautiful! When did it happen?”
“Last weekend,” Monica said, glowing. “In Central Park. He got down on one knee by the fountain. It was like a movie.”
I smiled, but something inside me tensed.
“When do we finally get to meet this guy?” I asked.
She hesitated just a second too long. “Soon. He’s just so busy with work. But he’s dying to meet you all.”
Then came bombshell number two.
“We’re getting married next month.”
“Next month?” Mom said, blinking fast. “That’s… that’s soon, honey.”
“I know,” Monica said quickly. “But when you know, you know, right? We’re soulmates. We don’t want to wait.”
And then, she turned to me.
“The only thing is…” she said softly, not meeting my eyes, “weddings are expensive—even small ones. I was wondering if you could help me out? Just until things settle after the wedding?”
I felt like someone punched me in the chest.
“Monica,” I said carefully, “you know I’ve been saving for a house.”
“I know,” she said, tears already streaming. “And I would never ask if it weren’t important. But Maddie, this is my dream. I’ll pay you back. I promise. Please. I’m begging you.”
I looked at Mom, who looked just as torn. I looked at Monica, my baby sister, crying over love.
And I thought about Dad. About what it felt like to be left behind.
“How much do you need?” I asked.
She sniffled. “Five thousand.”
I exhaled slowly. Then said the words that would haunt me: “Okay. I’ll help.”
She flew across the table and hugged me so hard I almost spilled my tea. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re the best sister in the whole world.”
Mom joined in. “Your aunts and I can take care of the food. We’ll make it beautiful.”
“We can have it at Grandma’s backyard,” Monica added. “It’s perfect. Trees, space, everything.”
The Wedding Day
The weather was perfect. The backyard was glowing—white chairs lined up, flowers from Mom’s garden everywhere, and the big oak tree standing like something out of a fairytale.
Guests were arriving, gifts piling up on the table. Everything looked magical.
Except… there was no groom.
I found Monica pacing inside the house, stunning in her white dress—but pale, nervous, glued to her phone.
“Where’s David?” I asked.
“He’s coming,” she said. “His flight was last night. He had a business thing. But he promised he’d be here.”
“A business thing the night before his wedding?”
She nodded. “He couldn’t get out of it. But he’ll be here. I swear.”
But minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
“He’s just late,” Monica told guests. “His flight was delayed.”
“Traffic from the airport,” she told someone else.
She kept stepping away to “take calls,” but her phone never rang. And she always came back more flustered than before.
Aunt Sarah pulled me aside. “Something’s wrong. That girl’s hiding something.”
“Aunt Sarah,” I said, “it’s her wedding day.”
“Exactly. Where’s the groom?”
Then we saw it—Monica’s phone left sitting on the kitchen counter.
Aunt Sarah grabbed it.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Checking the call log.”
Her face went white.
“Maddie,” she said, “there are no calls. She hasn’t called anyone. Not all day.”
My stomach flipped. “She’s been faking it…”
We dialed the number listed under “David.”
The phone rang twice.
“Hello?” A man’s voice.
“Hi, is this David?” Aunt Sarah asked.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“This is Monica’s aunt. We’re wondering where you are.”
A pause. Then he said, “Why? I’m at work in New York.”
Aunt Sarah’s voice was ice. “David… today is your wedding day.”
“What wedding?”
My heart stopped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding confused. “We dated briefly last spring, but we broke up months ago. I never proposed to her.”
“She’s in a wedding dress,” Aunt Sarah said quietly. “With 50 guests outside. Waiting for you.”
He sounded stunned. “That’s crazy. I liked Monica, but we weren’t serious. I haven’t heard from her in months.”
The line went dead.
I sank into a chair. I couldn’t breathe.
Then we ran outside to find Monica—but she was gone.
Her car was missing. Her purse, bag, even her phone—gone.
“Where did she go?” Mom asked, eyes wide.
Then Aunt Lisa ran over. “The gift table,” she gasped. “It’s empty.”
We turned.
Everything was gone.
“She took them,” I whispered. “She took the gifts. She took everything.”
She’d planned this.
While we were greeting guests, Monica was loading her car with presents and envelopes full of money. She faked the entire wedding.
“What do we tell everyone?” Mom asked, her voice cracking.
I looked out at the yard full of confused faces and said, “We tell them the truth. There’s no wedding.”
The Aftermath
We spent hours apologizing to guests. Some were angry. Some were kind. Some just left in silence.
We didn’t hear from Monica for three weeks.
Then Mom got a message:
“I’m safe. I’m sorry things got complicated. I’ll explain everything soon.”
When the real explanation came, it broke me.
She sent a long text. No apology. Just excuses.
She’d met someone else—Jake. Older. Charming. Broke. He convinced her to give him money for some “business opportunity.”
So she created a fake wedding. Lied to all of us. Took the money. Took the gifts. And ran.
Her message ended with:
“I hope you understand. I’m in love. Sometimes love makes you do crazy things.”
That was six months ago.
No apology. No money back.
I lost $5,000.
But Monica lost more—our trust, our respect, and the family that always had her back.
Some betrayals are too deep to forgive.
She may have chosen love.
But I learned the hard way: not all love is real.
And not everyone who calls you “family” deserves your loyalty.
