When my sister Beth told me she was getting engaged after meeting someone at a wellness retreat, I was so happy for her. I mean, Beth is a true romantic—she’s always believed in fairy tales, soulmates, and love at first sight. But as her wedding day got closer, she started acting strange. Really strange. That’s when I knew deep down… something was very wrong.
Let me tell you more about Beth.
She’s two years older than me and always been what I’d call beautifully intense. She’s the kind of person who sees magic in everything—sunsets, rainy days, even random strangers on the subway. Beth has always been a dreamer. While I was planning my future and making to-do lists, Beth was writing stories about princesses and brave knights.
She read romance novels like they were how-to guides for real life. And she believed, with her whole heart, that every person on Earth deserved a fairy-tale ending.
Growing up, we balanced each other out perfectly.
Beth brought imagination and wonder into our lives. I, being the practical one, made sure we didn’t miss school projects or lose track of reality. I kept her grounded, and she made sure I didn’t forget how to dream.
But here’s something you should know—Beth falls in love fast. Like lightning-fast.
In high school, she’d meet a guy on Monday and by Friday she was doodling wedding dresses in her notebook. She’d write their names together, picture their future house, even think about baby names. Most of those crushes faded away quickly, but Beth never stopped believing in love. She never gave up.
That’s why what happened a few years ago completely broke her.
Beth had been dating a guy named Marcus for almost two years. She was in it—completely head over heels. She talked about him all the time—about getting married, starting a family, buying a cozy house with a porch swing.
Then one day, everything came crashing down.
She showed up at my apartment, crying so hard she could barely talk. Her hands were shaking as she said, “He cheated on me, Stacey. For months. With someone from his office.” Then she added, “And he told people I was too clingy… that I lived in some fantasy world.”
My heart shattered for her.
After that, Beth changed. She stopped calling our parents. She barely answered my texts. She even quit her beloved book club. The bubbly, outgoing sister I knew had disappeared. Whenever I tried to visit, she’d say she was tired or busy. It was like watching her slowly fade away.
Then, six months later, she said she needed a fresh start.
Over coffee one morning, she looked at me with tired eyes and said, “I found this retreat in Arizona. It’s supposed to help people rediscover themselves. I think I need that. I need to figure out who I am without being someone’s ‘girlfriend.’”
It actually made sense. She needed time to heal. So she went away for three weeks.
And when she came back, something was different. She smiled more. She seemed lighter, like a piece of the old Beth had returned.
That’s when she told us about him.
“I met someone,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “His name is Nathaniel. He’s… amazing. Thoughtful, gentle. He really sees me.”
I wasn’t shocked. Beth is beautiful, funny, and knows how to make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. But what did surprise me was how fast things were moving.
Two months after she came home, Beth showed up to Sunday dinner wearing a simple silver engagement ring. She was glowing.
“It happened so fast,” she explained. “But when you know, you know. He proposed during a sunset hike in the desert. It was like something out of a novel.”
She also told us Nathaniel was from overseas. His work visa was expiring, and they needed to get married soon so he could stay in the country.
“It’ll be a small ceremony,” she said. “Just close friends and family. His groomsmen are flying in, and then he’ll go back for a bit to wrap up his work stuff.”
None of us had met Nathaniel yet. We hadn’t even seen a photo. Every time I asked to meet him or suggested we have dinner together, Beth would brush it off.
“He’s old-fashioned about pictures,” she’d say. “He thinks photos take away the magic.”
Or, “He’s really shy. I want your first meeting to be perfect.”
Looking back, there were so many red flags. Why hadn’t we seen them?
Why no photos? No video calls? No phone conversations?
But Beth looked happy. Genuinely happy—for the first time since Marcus crushed her. So we didn’t push.
The morning of the wedding, I arrived early at a charming little chapel downtown. It was filled with soft white roses and glowing candles. Everything looked perfect.
But as soon as I entered the bridal suite, I knew something was off.
Beth was already dressed. Her makeup was flawless, her hair curled beautifully. But her energy? It was frantic. She was pacing, talking a mile a minute.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she said. “They’re so proper. I hope I make a good impression—I’ve been practicing my handshake.”
Then she said, “He’s really shy, so his groomsmen are handling the social stuff. They’ve planned a symbolic entrance with special music. It represents two souls coming together across oceans. Isn’t that romantic?”
I tried to calm her down, but Beth insisted she needed some time alone. “I want to soak in the moment,” she said, pushing us out. Even Mom and her maid of honor had to leave.
Soon guests started arriving.
I scanned the crowd. It was mostly our family, Beth’s coworkers, and her book club friends. I didn’t see anyone who looked like they could be Nathaniel’s family. But I figured they were running late or sitting in another section.
The wedding coordinator gave the signal. The music started.
Beth appeared at the back of the chapel, walking slowly, radiantly. Her smile was huge.
She reached the altar.
And stood there… alone.
The music changed. Everyone turned to look at the chapel doors.
We waited.
And waited.
Nothing.
No Nathaniel. No groomsmen. No family.
That’s when Dad stood up.
He walked down the aisle holding a pink leather journal in his hands. I knew something big was about to happen.
He took the microphone from the officiant. His voice shook.
“I’m so sorry, everyone,” he said. “But this wedding… can’t happen. Please. Everyone needs to leave.”
Gasps filled the room.
He held up the journal. “There is no groom. Nathaniel isn’t real. The groomsmen don’t exist. There are no guests flying in from anywhere.”
He explained that he had gone to check on Beth before the ceremony. She wasn’t in the room, but the place was a mess—tissues, makeup, hairpins everywhere. And on the table was this journal.
He thought it was wedding notes or vows.
But inside, he found something devastating.
The journal was filled with letters to Nathaniel.
Pages and pages of made-up conversations, imaginary dates, detailed stories about their love. It was all fake. It was all in her head.
Dad’s voice broke. “She needs help,” he said softly. “Not applause. Not celebration. She needs her family. She needs healing.”
Beth gasped. Her face crumpled. Tears streaked down her perfect makeup.
“You ruined everything!” she screamed. “You don’t understand—he was real to me! He was real!”
People began leaving. Quietly. Some offered kind words. Others looked uncomfortable and slipped away. I saw phones out. I knew people were already texting the drama.
But all I could focus on was Beth.
She stood there, trembling in her wedding dress, crying into her veil as the world she had built in her mind fell apart in front of everyone.
I went to her.
I climbed the altar steps and sat beside her. I didn’t care about my dress or the whispers around us.
Beth leaned against me, sobbing uncontrollably.
Through tears, she whispered, “He felt so real, Stacey. I could feel his hand in mine. I could hear his laugh. How can something that felt so real… not be?”
We got Beth help that very day.
The weeks that followed were hard. So hard.
Doctors and therapists worked with her, and she was eventually diagnosed with a dissociative coping disorder and complex trauma response. It was all caused by deep emotional wounds—especially from her breakup with Marcus and the loneliness that followed.
Beth had created an entire fantasy to protect herself. It was her mind’s way of keeping her safe from heartbreak. But now she had to face it and rebuild.
She went to therapy. She took medication. She joined support groups. She started calling old friends. Bit by bit, she came back to life.
And then… something wonderful happened.
Four years later, Beth met someone. For real this time.
His name was Jordan. They met in an art therapy class. He was a quiet software engineer who loved Beth’s creative soul. He didn’t try to change her. He embraced her chaos.
Their love grew slowly. Steadily. No big declarations. Just real, honest connection.
Last spring, they got married.
This time, it was a small, beautiful wedding in our parents’ backyard. When Beth walked down the aisle, she locked eyes with Jordan. He smiled at her, eyes full of tears.
He was there. Real. Solid. Loving her for exactly who she was.
And I—standing by her side again as maid of honor—had never been prouder of my sister.
After everything she went through, she finally found her fairy tale.
Only this time, it was real.
