My Sister "Gave" Me My Boyfriend Out of Pure Jealousy

For twenty-five years, I was in love with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. We tumbled through life together, a chaotic whirlwind of shared struggles and scraped-together dreams.
My sister, Rory, had a different kind of love story. Her boyfriend treated her like a princess, enshrined in gold and jade. When someone made a pass at her once, the man’s hands and feet were broken, and he was thrown into the sea for the sharks by the next morning.
The day a rival of Ash’s couldn't find him and took out their anger on me instead, smashing the fish stall that was my entire livelihood, I cried until I couldn't breathe. That same night, my sister’s boyfriend forgot to give her a goodnight kiss, so he had fireworks set off across the entire city for three days and three nights just to apologize.
Her legendary romance went viral. A legion of followers waited with bated breath for every update.
I was one of them.
The day Ash was supposed to propose to me, he vanished.
At the same time, I was scrolling through my phone when I saw Rory’s latest post.
“This time, I’ll let you have your happiness with her.”
The accompanying photo showed her locked in a fierce kiss, the corner of her lip bitten red. The man’s face was pixelated, a mosaic of blurred color.
But the scar on the back of his hand, a pale, jagged mark from a burn… it was identical to Ash’s.
…
1
“Oh my god, my favorite love blogger just updated!”
“Damn, her boyfriend has so much tension. Even his scars are sexy.”
Hearing the chatter from the customers at my stall, my focus slipped. The blade in my hand slid, slicing deep into my finger.
“Are you blind?” a man barked, pointing at the fish on the cutting board. “You cut the gallbladder. How are we supposed to eat that now?”
“I’m so sorry, so sorry,” I stammered, bowing my head, my words tumbling out in a frantic apology. “I’ll give you another one, on the house.”
Thankfully, a regular customer nearby stepped in to smooth things over, and the man didn’t escalate.
“But Anya,” the regular said kindly after he’d left, “that dress really isn’t practical for cleaning fish.”
I looked down at the fabric clinging to my body, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I hated this dress. It was tight, impractical, and stained easily.
But today was the day Ash was supposed to propose.
I just wanted to look beautiful for him.
Finally, after the last customer of the rush was gone, Ash came running up, his breath coming in ragged pants as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Did some bastard give you trouble just now? I’ll go kill him.”
Any other time, I would have grabbed his arm, pleaded with him not to cause a scene. But as I watched him clench his fist, my eyes fixed on the familiar scar on his hand. I took an involuntary step back.
I refused to let myself entertain the possibility.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Rory.
“Congratulations, big sis! Did he pop the question?”
“I have good news, too! I got the scholarship, and my boyfriend bought me a huge condo!”
I forced my lips into a smile. “That’s amazing, Rory. Congratulations.”
“Anya? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sharp, sensing the tremor in mine.
“It’s nothing. I just cut my hand while cleaning a fish,” I said softly.
“No way. Put me on speaker!”
The moment I did, her voice, sharp and furious, blasted from the phone. “Ash, you son of a bitch! Aren’t you supposed to be proposing to my sister? Why is she still gutting fish?”
Ash shot back without missing a beat, “You don’t know shit. Mind your own business.” He scowled. “Proposal or not, she’s my wife.”
He hung up, his brow furrowed. I watched him, his eyes red-rimmed with what looked like concern as he rummaged for a Band-Aid, and I pushed down the strange, sick feeling coiling in my stomach.
Not long after, Rory herself burst onto the scene, a full-blown paramedic’s first-aid kit in her arms.
“I’m really fine, Rory. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I said, feigning annoyance.
She pouted, her expression petulant. “When it comes to my sister, nothing is ever too much!” She looked around my cramped, damp stall. “You should move into the condo my boyfriend gave me.”
“How could I possibly do that?”
“Your boyfriend is so good to you. Maybe he’s planning for it to be your marital home?”
A faint blush crept up Rory’s cheeks. Ash, who had been leaning against the counter, glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.
Then Rory’s tone shifted, a sharp edge returning to her voice. “Unlike some people, who can’t even take care of their own wife properly,” she said, directing a pointed look at Ash. “Still needs me, the family servant, to come running.”
With that, she took a roll of gauze and began wrapping my finger with practiced ease.
At her last words, Ash’s brow twitched again, a flicker of something I couldn’t name.
A strange impulse took hold of me. I looked at him.
“Ash,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s just get married.”
I turned to my sister. “Rory isn’t married yet. She can be our maid of honor.”
Rory froze. The half-wrapped roll of gauze slipped from her fingers and fell to the wet floor.
“I’m not planning on getting married,” she said, her head bowed so low I couldn’t see her face. “I’m just playing around.”
Ash’s body went rigid at her words.
“How can you say that? You have to take relationships seriously!” I said, reaching out to touch the top of her head. She flinched away, a subtle but definite movement.
“It’s impossible for us,” she murmured. Then she lifted her head, a bright, brittle smile plastered on her face. “You have to be happy, Anya. Promise me.”
“I still want to beat the hell out of that guy,” Ash grumbled, his voice laced with frustration, breaking the strange tension. “Who the hell does he think he is, making you bow and scrape like that?”
“Ash!” I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You promised me you wouldn’t get into any more trouble. We’re just ordinary people. We can’t afford to cross someone with money and power.”
He stopped, his body still, and a strange expression crossed his face.
Rory let out an ill-timed laugh. I looked at her, confused.
Realizing her slip, she quickly linked her arm through mine, her touch intimate. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve ever seen him back down. It’s kind of funny.”
For a split second, I thought I saw a look of pure indulgence in Ash’s eyes as he looked at her. I shook my head, clearing it. These two were the most important people in my life. Ash could be impulsive, but he was devoted to me in every other way. Besides, he was a street brawler and I was a fishmonger. Where would he get the kind of money to turn someone into a princess?
When Rory left, she clung to me, her face a mask of reluctance. But my eyes caught a glimpse of her phone screen. Her pinned chat at the top of her messaging app was with someone named “Mr. Won’t Say Yes.”
I remembered her joking back in high school.
“One day, I’m going to call myself ‘Miss Courageous,’” she’d declared. “And I’ll go after anyone I want.”
“What are you staring at?”
Ash’s voice broke through my thoughts as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.
“Are you mad that I missed the proposal today?” He lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto his lap. “I ran into someone I have a history with. An old enemy.”
He held me tight. “I was afraid he’d find out about you, threaten you. So I led him away.” He kissed my temple. “We’ll have another proposal ceremony, I promise.”
I remained still, my fingers tracing the scar on his hand. “I saw one just like this today…”
He immediately pulled his sleeve down, covering the mark, and changed the subject. “You’re on your period. You shouldn’t be getting your hands in cold water. I’ll wash your underwear for you.”
I leaned back on the sofa, my heart a hollow drum, and mindlessly scrolled through short videos on my phone.
Suddenly, I landed on the campus confession page for my sister’s university. I tapped on it out of curiosity.
I saw that the page was obsessed with a specific couple, secretly documenting their moments. I chuckled at the blogger’s sneaky devotion to her ‘ship.’
Then I saw a video where the girl was wearing a dress identical to Rory’s. It was a designer piece I had bought for her birthday, a gift that had cost me nearly a year’s savings. She had told me she adored it, that no one else at school would have anything like it.
I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the video, trembling slightly.
I scrolled down. The blog had started shipping this couple three years ago.
Three years ago?
That was when Rory had just started college here.
A chill spread through my entire body. I clicked on the very first video.
Rory’s back was to the camera.
She was calling out to a man, her voice sweet as honey. “Brother…”
The camera angle shifted.
The man’s face wasn’t visible, but the hand that reached out to cup her cheek was identical to Ash’s. Even the scar—its position, its size—was exactly the same.
In the next few videos, the girl’s face was never shown. But the moment I heard her voice, a roar filled my ears, and my breath caught in my throat.
The comment section was a frenzy of excitement.
“OMG, you can just tell from her voice she’s gorgeous!”
“I’m so jealous of the OP, getting to see this up close every day!”
The account owner replied:
“She’s my roommate! They’re so in love, but the guy is trapped by some other woman who he’s indebted to for saving his life. She’s demanding he marry her.”
“I’ve had to wipe her tears so many times. I swear, I want to kill that bitch myself!”
Tears blurred my vision completely.
I swiped to the next video. The date stamp was the day of my fifth anniversary with Ash.
Rory was passed out drunk at a karaoke bar. A moment later, a man burst into the frame, his movements frantic as he gathered her into his arms. After checking that she was okay, he pressed her down onto the sofa, his anger melting into a series of desperate, punishing kisses. Finally, he lifted her into his arms, his breath ragged. Before he left, he shot a warning glare at the camera, and the screen went black.
Staring at the final, familiar half-profile of his face, I felt a profound and bottomless despair.
The caption read: “Risking my life for this content. Guess if my OTP finally went all the way tonight!”
The comments flooded in:
“I’ll bet you a bag of chips they did!”
“Isn’t it obvious?!”
The last video was the one with the highest view count.
It was a video of the two of them kissing on the Concord Bridge.
The date was today. The day Ash was supposed to propose to me.
The Concord Bridge was the highest bridge in the city, the most popular spot for couples. I had asked Ash so many times to go there with me. I’d told him we didn’t even have to go onto the bridge itself, knowing he was afraid of heights. Every single time, without exception, he had refused. The reason was always the same: it was for my own good, for my safety.
It turned out he had already done it. With another woman—my own sister.
It wasn’t that he wouldn’t go. It was that he wouldn’t go with me.
I collapsed onto the floor. My heart felt like it was being slowly, methodically flayed by a dull knife, the pain so intense it made me tremble.
Just then, a street sweeper passed by outside. I was too close to the roll-up door and didn’t have time to move. A spray of filthy water drenched me.
Looking at the grime staining my clothes, my stomach churned violently. I scrambled to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy and empty.

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