When my little sister told me she’d found “the one” and wanted to get married, I gave her all the money I’d saved for my dream house—every last penny—without even thinking twice.
What she did with it? I never saw that coming.
At 35, I was finally feeling like a real adult.
I had a stable job as a software developer, a nice apartment, and most importantly—savings. Real, grown-up savings. Every month I watched the number in my bank account grow, knowing I was getting closer to buying my own home.
I’d spent years saying no to vacations, fancy restaurants, and weekend shopping sprees. Every little sacrifice was for that goal: my own house.
I was still single, but I wasn’t sad about it. I had my career, my goals, and my family.
So when my younger sister Monica called one Tuesday night, absolutely glowing with excitement, I smiled, happy for her.
“Maddie, I have to tell you something amazing,” she gushed. “I met someone. Like, really met someone this time.”
I curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, ready to listen. Monica had always been the romantic one—the kind who fell fast and deep. At 28, she’d had more boyfriends than I could count, and most ended in tears.
But this time, something felt different. Her voice didn’t sound dreamy—it sounded sure.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Love had never been easy in our family.
Dad walked out when I was 13 and Monica was just six. One day he was teaching Monica to ride her bike, and the next, his closet was empty.
Mom never explained why he left. Just silence, late-night tears, and a single line she’d repeat when we asked:
“Your father just wasn’t ready for this life. But we have each other, and that’s what matters.”
And we did have each other. Mom worked two jobs to keep food on the table. Our aunts pitched in—Aunt Sarah drove us to school, Aunt Lisa helped with homework.
I grew up fast. I was the one who packed Monica’s lunch, got her to class on time, and later, helped Mom pay bills.
That’s probably why I still felt so protective of her, even now.
“His name is David,” Monica told me. “He lives in New York, owns his own house, and has a killer job. We met online, but he visits all the time. Maddie, I’ve never felt this way before.”
“That’s great, Mon,” I said. “When do we get to meet him?”
“Soon,” she said quickly. “He’s just swamped with work right now. But he wants to meet everyone. I swear.”
I wanted to be happy for her—I was happy. But something about the whole thing made my stomach twist.
Six months later, she dropped the big news at Sunday dinner.
“He proposed!” she shouted, holding out her hand with a sparkling ring.
Mom gasped. “Oh honey, it’s gorgeous! When?”
“Last weekend. Central Park. He got down on one knee by the fountain. It was like something out of a movie.”
I smiled but couldn’t help asking:
“So… when do we get to meet him?”
Monica hesitated.
“He’s just so busy. But we’re getting married. Next month, actually.”
“Next month?” Mom blinked. “Sweetheart, that’s really fast.”
“I know, I know,” Monica said, grabbing Mom’s hand. “But we just know. We don’t want to wait.”
Then she turned to me.
“Maddie… the only thing is… weddings are expensive. Even a small one. I was wondering if you could help me out. Just until we’re settled.”
My heart dropped.
“Monica,” I said softly, “you know I’ve been saving for a house.”
“I know,” she whispered. “And I hate asking. But this is my wedding. My one chance at happiness. Please, Maddie. I’ll pay you back, I swear.”
She started crying. Big, messy tears.
I looked at Mom. Then back at Monica. I thought about all we’d been through together. And even though every part of me said, this is a bad idea…
“How much?” I asked.
“Five thousand.”
I took a deep breath.
“Okay. I’ll help.”
The wedding day was perfect. Clear skies. Grandma’s backyard had been transformed into something magical. Mom and the aunts made all the food, and it looked like a real fairytale.
“This looks amazing,” I told Mom as we set up chairs. “Monica’s going to be so happy.”
Mom smiled but kept checking her watch.
“Have you seen the groom? The ceremony starts in an hour.”
A cold knot formed in my stomach.
“No… not yet. I’ll go find Monica.”
I found her pacing in the kitchen in her dress, staring at her phone.
“You look gorgeous,” I said. “Where’s David?”
“He’s on his way,” she said quickly. “He had a last-minute work thing. But he’ll be here. He promised.”
More guests arrived, dropping gifts on the table. Everyone was excited—but the groom was still missing.
“Where’s David?” Aunt Lisa asked.
“Running late,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Work stuff.”
Monica kept sneaking off for calls. But her phone wasn’t even ringing.
“I keep trying him,” she told me. “It goes straight to voicemail. His phone must’ve died.”
Aunt Sarah pulled me aside.
“Something’s off,” she said. “That girl is lying.”
“It’s her wedding day,” I whispered.
“Exactly. Where’s the groom?”
We headed back inside—and that’s when we saw it.
Monica’s phone. Left on the kitchen counter.
Aunt Sarah picked it up.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at her call log.” Her face turned pale. “Maddie… she hasn’t called anyone today.”
“That’s not possible.”
“She’s been pretending.”
She found David’s number and called.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
“Hi, is this David? This is Monica’s aunt. We’re wondering where you are.”
“Um… I’m at work in New York. Why?”
Aunt Sarah’s voice turned sharp.
“David, today’s your wedding day.”
A pause.
“…What wedding?”
I felt like the floor dropped out from under me.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” David said. “Monica and I dated a few months ago. But we broke up. I never proposed.”
We both stared at the phone in horror.
“She’s in a wedding dress right now,” Aunt Sarah whispered.
“Look, Monica’s sweet, but it was never serious. I broke things off. I haven’t talked to her since.”
The line went dead.
We rushed outside—but Monica was gone.
Her car? Gone. The gifts? Gone. Even the phone—she must’ve grabbed it while we were outside.
“Where did she go?” Mom asked, panicked.
Then Aunt Lisa ran over.
“The gift table. It’s empty!”
She had taken everything.
She’d planned this. All of it.
While everyone was waiting for the ceremony, she’d been loading up her car with envelopes, gifts, and whatever she could grab. Then she vanished.
“What do we tell the guests?” Mom asked through tears.
I looked out at the backyard, filled with confused faces.
“We tell them the truth,” I said. “There’s no wedding.”
The rest of the day was a blur of awkward explanations. Some guests were furious. Others were heartbroken. Most just looked stunned.
Monica didn’t call. Not for three weeks.
Then, one night, a message came through Mom’s phone:
“I’m safe. I’m sorry things got complicated. I’ll explain soon.”
The real explanation came two days later—in a long, rambling text.
She’d met someone else.
Jake. Older. Charming. And completely broke.
He told her he had a business opportunity and needed startup money. She believed him. Fell for him.
She invented everything—the proposal, the wedding, the groom—to get money. To help him.
She knew I’d give her my savings. She knew our relatives would bring gifts. She knew we’d all help.
Because we loved her.
But she didn’t love us back. Not enough to tell the truth. Not enough to stop.
The message ended with:
“I hope you understand. I’m in love. Sometimes love makes you do crazy things. Jake and I are working on paying everyone back.”
That was six months ago.
No money. No apology. Just silence.
I lost $5,000. But Monica lost something even bigger.
She lost our trust.
She lost our family.
Some betrayals you never recover from. And some prices are just too high.
Even for love.
