When my sister Anna got engaged to a man from a wellness retreat, I was so happy for her. But as her wedding day approached, her strange behavior worried me. When our dad spoke at the ceremony, the truth he shared broke our hearts and set Anna on a path to healing.
Anna’s always been a dreamer, two years older than me, with a heart full of romance. She’d lose herself in love stories, convinced everyone deserves a fairy-tale ending. Growing up, she’d write tales of passion while I focused on schedules and studies. We worked as a team—her imagination brightened my practical world, and I kept her grounded. Anna fell in love quickly, planning futures with boys she barely knew, her journals full of their names and dream weddings. Her belief in love never faded, even when those dreams didn’t last.
A few years ago, Anna’s heart was broken. She’d been with Greg for two years, talking about kids and a home, when she found out he’d been cheating, calling her “overly emotional.” It crushed her. She pulled away from us, stopped calling Mom and Dad, and ignored my messages. Her vibrant spirit dimmed, and when I’d visit, she’d seem distant, like a stranger. It was painful to watch her slip away.
After months of isolation, Anna found a wellness retreat in Arizona to heal. “I need to start over,” she told me, her eyes dull. We hoped it would bring her back. Three weeks later, she returned, brighter, and told us about Daniel, a caring man she’d met. “He understands me,” she said, smiling. I wasn’t surprised she’d met someone—she’s magnetic—but their engagement after two months felt too fast.
Anna explained Daniel’s visa issues meant a quick wedding. “It’s just family and a few friends,” she said, showing a simple ring. “His groomsmen are coming from abroad, and he’ll need to finish work there after.” We hadn’t met Daniel, which seemed odd, but Anna deflected with romantic excuses. “He’s shy,” she’d say, or “He doesn’t do photos.” She looked so happy after Greg’s betrayal that we didn’t push, afraid to ruin her joy.
The wedding day was lovely, with a charming chapel decked in flowers. But Anna seemed off, pacing in her dress, talking fast about Daniel’s family and their “special entrance.” She asked for alone time, so we left her in the bridal suite. As guests arrived, I noticed they were all our family and Anna’s friends—no one from Daniel’s side. My heart raced, but I hoped they were just late.
Anna walked down the aisle, glowing but anxious. At the altar, she stood alone. The groom’s music played, but no one came. My stomach dropped. Then Dad stood, holding a pink notebook, and took the mic. “There’s no wedding,” he said softly. “Daniel doesn’t exist.” He showed the notebook, filled with Anna’s letters to a man she’d imagined. Guests gasped and left, whispering.
Dad had found the notebook in the bridal suite, open among scattered pins. It held pages of Anna’s made-up life with Daniel—dates, talks, and a love that wasn’t real. Anna sobbed, “He felt so real!” as I held her. Therapy revealed a trauma disorder from Greg’s betrayal, her mind creating Daniel to cope. With support, Anna healed, rejoining friends and a support group.
Years later, she met Luke at an art therapy class. Their love grew gently, built on trust. At their small backyard wedding, Anna’s eyes met Luke’s, both real and teary. My heart swelled—she’d found her true happy ending.
