When my sister Beth told me she was engaged after meeting someone at a wellness retreat, I was so happy for her. I really wanted her to be happy again. But as her wedding day got closer, she started acting very strange. That’s when I knew something was seriously wrong.
Let me tell you more about Beth.
Beth is my big sister. She’s two years older than me, and she’s always been what I call beautifully intense. She’s the kind of person who sees magic in everyday things. When she reads romance novels, it’s like she believes every word is a guide for life. Beth truly believes everyone deserves a fairy tale ending — a love story that feels like it’s straight out of a dream.
When we were kids, Beth was the dreamer. She would spend hours writing stories about princesses, knights, and magical lands. Meanwhile, I was the practical one — doing homework, thinking about my future, planning my career. But that’s why we got along so well. Beth brought wonder and magic into my organized world, and I helped keep her grounded when her imagination started running wild.
The thing about Beth is that she falls in love fast. And she falls hard.
Back in high school, she could meet a guy on Monday and by Friday she was already planning their wedding. She’d write their names side by side in her notebooks and imagine what their life together would look like. Most of these crushes faded quickly, but Beth never stopped believing in true love.
So, when something terrible happened a few years ago, it hit her like a truck.
Beth was dating a guy named Marcus for almost two years. She was completely head-over-heels. She talked constantly about marriage, kids, and building their dream house together. I had never seen her so sure about anything in her life.
Then one day, she showed up at my apartment, crying so hard she could barely speak.
She told me Marcus had been cheating on her for months—with a coworker. Not only that, but he’d been telling people Beth was “too clingy” and that she “lived in a fantasy world.”
That breakup shattered her completely.
Beth, who used to be so social and full of life, suddenly disappeared. She stopped calling our parents, barely replied to my texts, and quit the book club she’d loved for years.
Whenever I tried to visit her, she always had an excuse — she was too tired, too busy, or just not feeling up to it. It was like she was slowly fading away right before my eyes.
After six long months of silence, Beth finally told us she needed a total reset. She found a wellness retreat in Arizona that focused on healing and finding yourself.
“I need space,” she said over coffee, her eyes tired and distant. “I need to figure out who I am without someone else.”
It made sense. We all hoped this retreat would help Beth find her spark again.
She was gone for three weeks. When she came back, it was like the old Beth was trying to come back to life.
That’s when she told us about Nathaniel.
“I met someone,” she said, her eyes sparkling like they used to. “His name is Nathaniel. He’s wonderful—kind, thoughtful, and he really sees me.”
I wasn’t surprised she had met someone. Beth is beautiful, funny, and somehow makes everyone feel special.
What did surprise me was how fast everything was happening.
Just two months after returning from Arizona, Beth announced they were engaged. She came to Sunday dinner wearing a simple ring and glowing with happiness.
“It happened so fast,” she said to our stunned parents. “Nathaniel proposed during a sunset hike. It was perfect.”
Beth explained that Nathaniel was from overseas and his visa was complicated. They had to get married quickly so he could stay in the country while he finished some work projects.
“It’ll be a small ceremony,” she assured us. “Just family and a few close friends. His groomsmen are flying in from abroad, then he’ll have to go back overseas for a few weeks.”
None of us had ever met Nathaniel or even talked to him on the phone. That seemed strange, but Beth had a reason for everything.
“He’s old-fashioned about pictures,” she said. “He thinks they steal the magic from a 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 didn’t ask loud enough. Why all the secrecy? Why no video calls? Why did everything have to move so fast?
But Beth seemed so happy—really happy—for the first time in years. None of us wanted to spoil that after everything she’d been through with Marcus.
On the morning of the wedding, I arrived early to help with last-minute things. The chapel downtown was small but charming, filled with white roses and soft lights.
Everything looked perfect. But the moment I stepped into the bridal suite, I felt something was wrong.
Beth was dressed in her wedding gown, hair curled and makeup flawless. But instead of excitement, she looked nervous—almost frantic. She paced back and forth in her heels, talking nonstop in a way that didn’t feel joyful. It felt manic.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she said quickly. “They’re so formal, so proper. I hope I make a good impression. I’ve been practicing my handshake.”
She didn’t pause.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” she said, eyes wide. “He’s thoughtful but shy in crowds. That’s why the groomsmen will handle the social stuff.”
“They planned a special entrance with music,” she went on. “It’s supposed to show how two souls from different continents join together. Isn’t that romantic?”
I tried to stay with her, to help calm her, but she shooed me away.
“I want to soak in the moment alone,” she said firmly.
She even told Mom and her maid of honor to leave.
Soon, guests started filling the chapel.
I looked around. Most of the people were family or friends from Beth’s work and book club. No one who looked like Nathaniel’s family or friends.
I thought maybe they were late or sitting somewhere else.
Then the wedding music started. Beth appeared at the back, looking stunning and dreamy, smiling brighter than I’d ever seen her.
But when she reached the altar, I noticed something that made my stomach twist.
She was completely alone.
The music shifted to announce the groom’s entrance. Everyone turned to the doors.
We waited. And waited.
But the doors stayed shut. No Nathaniel. No groomsmen. No family from overseas.
Our dad stood up, holding a pink leather journal. I could see the shock on his face.
He took the microphone, voice shaking.
“I’m sorry, everyone. This wedding has to be canceled. Please leave now.”
The chapel was silent except for gasps.
Dad held up the pink journal for everyone to see.
“There is no groom,” he said. “Nathaniel isn’t real. There are no groomsmen or family flying in. I found this journal in Beth’s bridal suite. It’s filled with letters to a man who doesn’t exist.”
Dad told us he had gone to check on Beth one last time before the ceremony. The room was a mess — hairpins, makeup, crumpled tissues everywhere.
That’s when he saw the journal open on the dresser.
He thought it would have wedding plans or vows, but instead, he found heartbreaking pages addressed to “Nathaniel.”
Page after page of one-sided conversations, imagined fights, and made-up dates. It was a whole fantasy relationship that only existed in Beth’s mind.
Dad looked at Beth, who was now trembling, tears running down her face.
“She needs help,” he said softly. “Not applause. Not congratulations. She needs professional help, and she needs her family.”
Beth lost it.
“You ruined everything!” she screamed at Dad. “You don’t understand! He was real to me! Everything we had was real!”
Guests quietly left, some offering support to Mom and Dad, others just wanting to escape.
But I stayed by Beth’s side.
She collapsed into my arms and cried 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 could something that felt so real not be real?”
We got Beth the help she needed.
The next months were tough. Our whole family worked with doctors and therapists to understand what happened.
Beth was diagnosed with a complex trauma response and a dissociative coping disorder. The heartbreak from Marcus and the months of isolation had made her mind create a safe place—a fantasy world where she felt loved.
Healing was slow and painful. Beth had to accept the truth: she had made up a story to protect herself from loneliness. She had to learn how to deal with disappointment in healthy ways and build real relationships.
But with therapy, medicine, and family support, Beth started to heal.
She reconnected with old friends, joined a trauma support group, and even started dating again. But this time, it was different. She had help, and she kept her expectations real.
Four years later, Beth met Jordan in an art therapy class. He was a quiet, kind software engineer who loved Beth’s creativity and chaos without trying to change her.
Their love grew slowly and naturally, built on true friendship and respect.
Last spring, Beth and Jordan had a small, simple wedding in our parents’ backyard.
When Beth walked down the aisle, she didn’t look lost or dreamy.
Her eyes found Jordan’s face right away.
He was real—right there, smiling with tears in his eyes.
I was so happy for her. After everything, my sister finally found the love she deserved.
