When my sister Beth announced she was engaged after meeting someone at a wellness retreat, I was over the moon for her. I really wanted to believe she had found happiness again. But as the wedding day got closer, Beth started acting strangely—more strange than usual—and I had this sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong.
Let me tell you about my sister Beth.
Beth is what I’d call beautifully intense. She’s two years older than me, and she’s always been one of those people who see magic everywhere. She’s super creative and brilliant, with a wild imagination. She reads romance novels like they’re guides to life, truly believing that everyone deserves their own fairy tale ending.
When we were kids, Beth was the dreamer, and I was the practical one. She’d spend hours writing stories about princesses, knights, and faraway kingdoms, while I was busy doing homework and planning how to build a solid career.
But honestly, that’s why we worked so well as sisters. Beth brought wonder and color into my neat, organized world, and I kept her grounded when her imagination ran way off the rails.
One thing about Beth is she falls in love fast—and hard. Always has.
Back in high school, she could meet a guy on Monday and by Friday she was already imagining their future wedding. She’d write their names together in her notebooks and start picturing their perfect life.
Usually, these crushes fizzled out fast, but Beth never lost hope that true love was out there waiting for her.
That’s why what happened a few years ago broke her completely.
Beth had been dating a guy named Marcus for almost two years. She was head over heels, talking non-stop about marriage, kids, and the house they’d buy together. I’d never seen her so happy or so sure of anything in her life.
Then, one day, she came to my apartment crying like I’d never seen before.
She told me, “Marcus has been cheating on me… for months… with someone from his work.” Her voice was trembling. “And… and he’s been telling everyone I’m ‘too clingy’ and that I ‘live in a fantasy world.’”
That breakup shattered her.
Beth, who was always social and outgoing, shut down completely. She stopped calling Mom and Dad, barely replied to my texts, and quit the book club she loved. When I tried to visit, she always said she was too busy or too tired. It felt like I was watching her disappear piece by piece.
Six months later, she told me she needed a complete reset.
She said, “I’m going to this wellness retreat in Arizona. It’s about healing and finding myself.”
At our coffee meet-up, she looked worn out but hopeful. “I need space to figure out who I am—without anyone else.”
We all agreed it made sense. Beth needed healing, and maybe the retreat would help her find her spark again.
She was gone for three weeks, and when she came back, she seemed different—more like the Beth we all remembered.
That’s when she told us about Nathaniel.
“I met someone,” she said, her eyes sparkling like old times. “His name’s Nathaniel. He’s wonderful. Kind, thoughtful, and he really sees me.”
I wasn’t shocked she’d met someone new—Beth’s beautiful and has a way of making people feel special. What did surprise me was how fast things moved.
Two months after returning from Arizona, Beth showed up at Sunday dinner wearing a simple engagement ring and glowing like sunshine.
“It happened so fast,” she told our stunned parents. “He proposed during a sunset hike. It was perfect.”
Beth explained that Nathaniel was from overseas and had visa issues. They needed to marry quickly so he could stay in the country while handling his work.
“It’ll be a small wedding,” Beth promised. “Just family and a few close friends. His groomsmen are flying in from abroad, and then he’ll have to go back overseas to finish some projects.”
But here’s the weird part: none of us had ever met Nathaniel. Or talked to him. Not even once.
Whenever I asked to see pictures or meet him, Beth would smile and say things like:
“He’s old-fashioned about photos. He thinks they steal the magic from the moment.”
Or, “He’s shy around new people. I want our first meeting to be perfect.”
Looking back now, I realize we all had questions, but no one said them loud enough.
Why so secretive? Why couldn’t we video chat? Why the rush?
Still, Beth seemed so happy for the first time in years. None of us wanted to ruin that.
The morning of Beth’s wedding, I got to the chapel early to help.
It was a quaint little place downtown, decorated with white roses and soft, golden lights. Everything looked perfect. But the moment I stepped into the bridal suite, I felt something was wrong.
Beth was ready—hair curled, makeup flawless, stunning in her dress. But she was pacing nervously, talking fast and nonstop. It wasn’t excitement. It was like she was on edge, almost manic.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she said breathlessly. “They’re so formal. I’ve been practicing my handshake to impress them.”
She kept talking, barely pausing.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s thoughtful but shy in crowds. That’s why his groomsmen are handling the social stuff.”
“They planned a special music entrance—it’s symbolic. It shows two souls joining from different continents. Isn’t that romantic?”
I stayed close, trying to calm her nerves, but Beth insisted she needed to be alone.
She waved me, Mom, and even her maid of honor away. “I want to soak in the moment.”
Guests started arriving. Looking around, I noticed mostly family and friends from Beth’s work and book club. No one looked like Nathaniel’s family or friends. I thought maybe they were late or sitting somewhere else.
Then the music started. Beth appeared at the back of the chapel, radiant and dreamy, smiling like I’d never seen.
But when she reached the altar, something made my heart drop.
She was standing there alone.
The music changed to signal the groom’s entrance. Everyone turned to the doors and waited.
But the doors stayed shut.
No Nathaniel. No groomsmen. No family flying in from overseas.
Our father stood up suddenly. He walked toward Beth, holding a pink leather journal.
I knew right then everything was about to change.
Dad took the microphone from the baffled officiant, his hands shaking.
“I’m sorry, everyone. This wedding must be canceled. Please, leave now.”
Gasps and murmurs spread through the chapel. Dad held up the journal.
“There is no groom. Nathaniel isn’t real. No groomsmen. No overseas guests.”
Dad explained how he’d gone to check on Beth one last time before the ceremony.
When she didn’t answer, he entered the messy bridal suite—hairpins, makeup, tissues everywhere.
There, on the table, was the pink journal.
He opened it expecting wedding notes or vows.
Instead, he found heartbreaking pages of letters to a man who didn’t exist.
Page after page, one-sided conversations, imagined arguments, fake dates, and descriptions of a relationship that lived only in Beth’s mind.
Each entry was more desperate, more detailed than the last, building a fantasy where she was loved deeply by someone who was never there.
Dad looked at Beth, who was trembling at the altar, her perfect makeup streaked with tears.
“She needs help,” he said softly into the microphone. “Not applause. Not congratulations. She needs professional help, and our family’s support.”
Beth broke down completely.
“You ruined everything!” she screamed at Dad. “You don’t understand! He was real to me! Everything we had was real!”
The guests quietly left. Some gave our parents kind words, others hurried away to avoid the awkwardness.
I focused only on Beth, standing alone in her wedding dress, sobbing into her veil as her fantasy shattered.
I walked to her and sat on the altar steps beside her, ignoring my bridesmaid dress and the watching eyes.
She leaned into me, crying harder than I’d ever seen.
“He felt so real, Stacey,” she whispered. “Every conversation, every moment. I could see his face, hear his voice, feel his hand. How can something that felt this real not exist?”
We got Beth the help she desperately needed.
The next months were hard for all of us. We worked with therapists and doctors to understand what happened.
Beth was diagnosed with a complex trauma response and dissociative coping disorder caused by her breakup with Marcus and years of emotional isolation.
Healing wasn’t quick or easy.
Beth had to accept she’d built a fantasy to protect herself from loneliness and pain.
She learned healthy ways to handle disappointment and how to build real connections.
Slowly, with therapy, medicine, and family support, Beth started healing.
She reconnected with friends, joined a trauma support group, and even started dating again—this time with guidance and realistic hopes.
Four years later, Beth met Jordan in an art therapy class.
He was a quiet, kind software engineer who loved Beth’s creativity and gentle chaos without trying to change her.
Their relationship grew slowly, naturally—built on friendship and respect.
When Beth and Jordan married last spring, it was a small, simple ceremony in our parents’ backyard.
This time, when Beth walked down the aisle, her eyes found Jordan’s face immediately.
He was real—standing there, solid, smiling with tears in his eyes.
I can’t even explain how happy I felt for my sister. She’d finally found the man she was truly meant to be with.
