Under a flickering, broken streetlight, he pulled me close and kissed me. Rain ran down our faces as he whispered, “I could do this forever.”
“You’re crazy,” I laughed, wiping water from my eyes.
“Crazy about you,” he said, holding me tighter.
It felt like something straight out of a movie — the kind of moment you replay in your mind when life gets hard, reminding yourself why you fell in love in the first place.
And back then… I believed him.
Three years later, I walked down the aisle in a lace dress my mom had helped me choose.
I looked into Ryan’s eyes and thought, This is it. This is what love looks like.
My father gave me away, his eyes full of tears. My mother dabbed carefully at her makeup in the front row.
And Chloe — my sister, my maid of honor — stood beside me in a pale pink dress, holding my bouquet and smiling as if she were truly happy for me.
Before I walked down the aisle, I squeezed her hand.
“Thank you for being here,” I whispered.
She squeezed back. “Always, sis. Always.”
What a lie that turned out to be.
Chloe wasn’t just my sister.
She was my best friend.
We shared a room growing up, right up until high school. We stayed up late whispering secrets, giggling over crushes, dreaming about our futures.
