Eight Years Wasted On His Sister

When I cancelled the fifteen-thousand-dollar wedding photography package, the boutique coordinator stared at me in absolute silence.

Miss Evans, the deposit is completely non-refundable, she said, her voice dropping into a hushed, cautious tone. Are you sure you dont want to wait until Drew gets back from his business trip to talk this over?

I slid the receipt back across the polished glass counter. My voice was quiet, but steady. "No need to wait. Hes too busy watching the Northern Lights in Iceland with his childhood sweetheart."

Drew and I had been together for eight years.

Over nearly a decade, I had begged him countless times to take me to Iceland. I wanted us to stand under the green glow of the aurora for our wedding photos. It was my only real dream for our wedding.

Every single time I brought it up, his brow would furrow with irritation. "It's too far, Tina. Too expensive. Why do you always need these elaborate, useless things? We can just shoot in a local studio and have them Photoshop the lights in. It looks exactly the same."

I had believed him. I had forced myself to be the practical, low-maintenance partner he always praised.

Until last night.

I was looking for an old tax document on his backup laptop when I found a social media account still logged in. It was an Instagram page with over a million followers, a joint couple's blog called Joyce@ChasingLights_WithYouJoyce.

For eight years, hundreds of posts had documented a secret life. And the star of every single photo, every beautifully edited reel, was his childhood sweetheart, Joyce.

Every single September, while I stayed behind in our cramped San Francisco apartment, Drew had flown to Iceland to capture a commemorative photo with Joyce under the green ribbon of the aurora.

It turned out Drew wasn't incapable of romance. He just didn't want to waste it on me.

When the partial refund was finalized, I walked past the window and stared at the lace gown I had tried on three times. My chest ached so deeply I could barely breathe, and tears began to blur my vision.

The boutique manager gently handed me a tissue. "Since the deposit is forfeited anyway... we could transfer the credit to a solo portrait session for you?"

I wiped my eyes and shook my head. "No, thank you."

I had already booked a one-way ticket to Southern Italy, leaving in three days.

If the moon wasn't going to shine on me, I would go chase the sun myself.

The moment I stepped out of the boutique, my phone vibrated in my purse. It was Mom.

"Tina, sweetie," she began, her voice warm but tinged with that familiar maternal worry. "Your father and I were talking. Were thinking of selling the old house in Eugene. With that and our savings, we should have enough to help you and Drew with a down payment on a place in the Bay Area."

She paused, taking a soft breath. "A woman needs her own name on a deed, Tina. If you marry into that family without a safety net of your own, you wont have a way out if things get hard."

Hearing her voice, my throat tightened. The tears I thought I had finished crying threatened to spill over.

"Mom, don't," I choked out, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You don't need to do that. I'm not marrying Drew."

There was a sudden, heavy silence on the other end. Then, the sound of the phone being snatched away. My dads gravelly voice filled the receiver.

"Did he do something to you? Does his family think we're just small-town nobodies?"

My parents had always carried a quiet guilt about how hard I struggled to survive in San Francisco. If I hadn't been so relentlessly, stubbornly in love with Drew, they would have never agreed to this marriage.

"No, Dad," I lied, looking up at the gray city sky to keep the tears from falling. "I actually just landed a massive historic restoration project in Southern Italy. It's a three-year contract, and the pay is incredible. When I get back, I'm going to buy a beautiful house with a massive garden right there in Eugene. I don't want to struggle in the city anymore."

It took a long time to soothe them, but they finally believed me.

The second I hung up, a notification flashed at the top of my screen. The couple's account had just posted a new photo.

In the image, their fingers were tightly intertwined. Behind them, the sky was ablaze with the breathtaking, emerald ribbons of the aurora borealis.

The caption read: Year Eight. Guided by the Northern Lights, we are still each other's only.

I stared at the word only, my fingers trembling against the glass screen.

Eight years. Drew had never posted a single picture of me on any of his social media accounts.

Whenever I had asked about it, he'd dismiss me with a patronizing sigh. "Tina, I'm thirty years old. I don't feel the need to broadcast my private life to the world. Its childish."

I realized then: he didn't hate showing off his life. He just didn't want to show me off.

When I walked into our apartment, a plush teddy bear sat on the entryway console, pinning down a small, elegant note.

Drew's homemade ginger tea is literal magic! Here's a little thank-you giftmy favorite plushie!

I stood in the quiet hallway, a cold numbness spreading through my chest.

Just last month, my cramps had been so severe I couldn't get out of bed. I had begged him to make me some hot ginger tea.

He had been on the phone with Joyce, his face twisted in annoyance as he snapped at me: "Tina, stop being so high-maintenance. I'm a guy, I don't even know how to make that stuff. Just order something on Postmates."

Looking at Joyce's delicate handwriting, I realized he not only knew how to make it, but he also made sure the temperature was perfect for her.

I crumpled the note into a tight ball and threw it, along with the plush toy, directly into the trash can.

In the study, the monitor of his desktop was still glowing. He had forgotten to log out of his personal email and social accounts.

I sat down and began clicking through the archives, page by page.

Aside from their annual September trips to Iceland, all those weekends he claimed he was "pulling overtime at the office" were actually spent taking Joyce to every trendy boutique hotel and scenic spot along the Pacific Coast Highway.

Two years ago, my favorite singer was in town. I had saved up to buy two tickets and practically begged him to come with me.

He had scoffed. "Those arenas are loud and crowded. I'd rather spend my weekend catching up on work."

Yet, the digital trail showed that the very next day, he had accompanied Joyce to an outdoor music festival.

In the vlogs, he carried her designer tote bag, blocked the chilly wind with his own jacket, and knelt down in the dirt to tie her sneakers.

In contrast, every photo of Drew and me from the past three years had been taken by me. In every single one, he looked utterly miserable.

"My angles are terrible," hed always complain, rushing me. "I'm a straight guy, I don't know how to take aesthetic photos. Just take a quick one and let's go."

Suddenly, my phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from Drew.

On screen, the cozy, wood-paneled interior of a luxury Icelandic cabin flickered. He noticed my red, swollen eyes and frowned. "Have you been crying?"

My throat felt like it was coated in sand. I shook my head. "No. Just windy outside. Got some dust in my eye."

He seemed to accept the excuse, his tone immediately turning dismissive. "I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. We can do the wedding shoot then."

I opened my mouth to tell him the shoot was cancelled, but before I could speak, Joyce's smiling face popped into the frame. She naturally wrapped her arm around his.

"Tina! I was vacationing in Iceland and literally ran into Drew during his business trip! You don't mind, do you?"

Before I could answer, Drew chuckled, looking down at her. "Why would she mind? Go on, show her what we got."

Joyce proudly held up a cheap, generic Northern Lights keychain. "I picked this out just for you, Tina!"

I stared at the plastic trinket. In the drawer of our entryway table, there were already eight identical keychains. It was her signature, passive-aggressive way of reminding me she was always there.

I didn't acknowledge her comment. I just stared at the screen and said softly, "Safe travels. When you get back, I have a big gift waiting for both of you."

The next afternoon, Drew arrived home.

His suitcase was packed with expensive organic supplements, luxury skincare sets, and rare teas. He rummaged through the clutter for a long time before pulling a cheap keychain out of a side pocket and tossing it onto the kitchen island.

"Here. Yours."

I caught it, the sharp plastic edges digging into my palm. I looked at the beautifully wrapped gift boxes still sitting in his suitcase. "What about all those?"

"For Joyce's parents. They have delicate health, they need the supplements," he said casually, not even looking up. "And the ceramic tea set is for her mother. Joyce mentioned her old set was chipped."

My parents sent homemade jam and local Oregon honey every single month; Drew had never once acknowledged their gestures, let alone bought them a gift.

I took a slow breath, my grip tightening on the cheap plastic in my hand. "I still want to go to Iceland for our wedding shoot, Drew. Can we please make it happen?"

His movements stiffened, and his brow furrowed immediately. "We already booked the indoor studio here. Why do you have to be so difficult, Tina? We aren't children anymore. Can you please start being practical about our life together?"

Practical. Sensible. Reasonable.

Those were always the rules for me. But for Joyce, his boundaries didn't exist.

Before I could reply, the front door clicked open.

My future mother-in-law, Diane, walked in, laughing gaily with Joyce at her side. Diane took one look around our living room and scoffed.

"Tina, I don't mean to be harsh, but you're supposed to be a designer. Why is this place so dreary? It feels incredibly small-minded and cheap."

She looked at me, her eyes sweeping over my simple clothes with open disapproval. "If Drew hadn't introduced you to his clients, how would you even survive in San Francisco? You have no leverage in this city without him."

In the past, I would have swallowed the insult, keeping the peace. Drew would always stand by, whispering, She's just old-fashioned. Be the bigger person.

But this time, I didn't back down.

"If you think it's so awful, Diane, why don't I tear everything down and let you redecorate it entirely to your taste?"

Diane froze, her expression shifting from surprise to deep disdain. "A lot of attitude for someone with so little to show for it. Look at how Joyce styled the family estate. Cozy, refined. You should take notes instead of embarrassing the Mercer name."

Joyce chimed in, putting on her sweet, peace-making act. "Diane, Tina is from a small town in Oregon. It's only natural she has a different aesthetic. Oh, Drew, I'm starving! I'm going to cook tonight so Tina can try my recipes. Will you help me prep?"

Drew looked down at her, his expression softening into an indulgent smile. "Always putting me to work. What are we making?"

"Your special marinated sea bass!"

Without a second thought, the two of them walked into the kitchen. Drew grabbed the linen apron hanging on the wall and carefully tied it around her waist, his movements so natural, so practiced, they looked like a married couple.

Diane sat down on the sofa, smoothing her skirt. "Honestly, Drew was always meant to marry Joyce. They share the same background, the same pedigree. Tina, since your family has neither wealth nor influence, you should learn to be agreeable. Marrying into our family is the luckiest thing that will ever happen to you."

I stood in the shadow of the hallway, watching the kitchen, and smiled quietly.

"It's fine," I whispered. "I won't argue anymore."

At the dinner table, I sat like a ghost. The three of them laughed over childhood vacations and family gossip, speaking in a shorthand I could never hope to understand.

As I reached for a serving dish, my eyes fell on Joyces left hand. Resting on her ring finger was a brilliant, custom-cut diamond band.

And on Drews left handthe hand that usually wore nothingwas an identical, matching silver band.

My chest felt as though it had been struck by a heavy hammer.

That night, as Drew stood by the closet unbuttoning his shirt, I stared at his hand. "Is that a matching couple's ring, Drew? What is the meaning of this?"

He didn't even turn around. "Oh, this? Joyce's birthday is coming up. She wanted to know what it felt like to wear a diamond engagement ring, so she begged me to wear the matching band for a few days to indulge her. It's just a piece of jewelry, Tina. Do you have to make a federal case out of everything?"

A physical ache bloomed in my chest. "An accessory? I am your fiance, Drew. You are wearing a couple's ring with another woman while we are planning our wedding. What do you think I am?"

Drew slammed his tie onto the mattress, his face darkening. "Tina, are you seriously doing this? I put your name on the deed of the condo without you contributing a single cent so you could have a future in this city. Most outsiders would kill for that opportunity. What more do you want from me?"

He sneered, his voice laced with venom. "Joyce and I have a lifetime of history. What is the harm in wearing a silly ring to make her happy on her birthday? Why must you be so small-minded?"

He grabbed his jacket, slammed the bedroom door, and left.

I stood frozen in the quiet room. A few minutes later, my phone lit up. Joyce@ChasingLights_WithYouJoyce had updated.

The photo showed their hands overlapping, the matching bands gleaming under the soft light. The caption read: Fulfilling my little princess's birthday wish.

I looked at the screen and let out a soft, dry laugh.

"You're right, Drew," I whispered to the empty room. "I should be satisfied."

Over the weekend, it was Joyce's birthday dinner.

I had tried to stay behind, but Drew had blocked the doorway, his face set in a hard scowl. "If you don't show, Joyce will think you're holding a grudge. She bought you gifts, she helped with the photography contacts. Don't be ungrateful, Tina."

How thoughtful of her. She had spent a week in Iceland with my fianc, worn a matching ring, and paraded it online.

But I went anyway. Not because I was submitting, but because I wanted to see exactly how hollow the man I had loved for eight years had become.

The private dining room at the restaurant was loud and lively. Joyce sat at the head of the table, her makeup flawless, the diamond ring catching every reflection of the chandelier.

"Tina's here!" one of Drew's close friends called out. "Drew, man, when is the big day? Have you set the date?"

Drew, sitting close to Joyce, took a sip of his wine. "The date isn't locked in yet, but we're doing the photoshoot tomorrow."

A chorus of congratulations rose around the table. The conversation quickly shifted to local real estate and the new country club. I sat quietly in the corner, a familiar outsider.

In the past, I had tried so hard to blend in, but Drew would always steer me away, whispering, These business discussions are dry, Tina. You wouldn't find them interesting.

Now I realized he didn't want to save me from boredom; he just didn't want me in his world.

Suddenly, someone across the table noticed the jewelry. "Joyce, your ring... wait, matches Drew's? Is that the custom piece from that Italian designer?"

A few people turned to look at me, their eyes filled with awkward, lingering curiosity.

Drew leaned back in his chair, his tone entirely casual. "It was her birthday wish. She wanted me to wear it with her to ward off unwanted attention tonight. Just a birthday gift to keep her happy."

"Does Tina mind?" someone joked.

Drews gaze slid over to me, cold and warning, assessing my reaction.

I picked up my water glass, took a small sip, and met his eyes. "I don't mind."

He frowned, his brow twitching slightly at my complete lack of emotion. Before he could speak, the waitstaff wheeled in a massive tiered cake.

As Drew stepped forward to help Joyce cut it, his eyes landed on the fruit garnishes. His face hardened and he snapped at the waiter, "Who ordered this? You know Joyce is severely allergic to mangoes!"

He carefully sliced a piece from the untouched side, placed it on a plate, and handed it to me. "Here, don't let it go to waste."

I didn't reach for the plate.

Drew's frown deepened. "I thought you said you didn't mind. Eat it. Don't waste good food."

I looked at him, my voice flat. "I'm allergic to mangoes too, Drew."

Drews hand froze mid-air. The entire table fell into a sudden, uncomfortable silence.

One of his friends tried to laugh it off. "Man, Drew, how do you forget that? Don't tell us you forgot her birthday too."

Drew, defensive, snapped back instantly. "Of course not. September third."

The table erupted into easy laughter again, but I couldn't join them.

September third was the date printed on my driver's licensea clerical error from when I was a teenager. My actual birthday was two months later. I had corrected him dozens of times over the years, but he had never bothered to remember.

Joyce cut another slice, placing it in front of me with a soft, sympathetic smile. "Don't be mad at him, Tina. Drew remembers my allergies because we grew up together. That kind of instinct... you can't just unlearn it."

It was an apology wrapped in absolute triumph.

I pushed my chair back and stood up. "Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

Inside the quiet bathroom, I washed my hands. The door opened, and Joyce walked in, letting the heavy door click shut behind her. Without an audience, her sweet demeanor vanished.

"You have quite the tolerance, Tina," she said, leaning against the counter. She turned her phone toward me, the screen open to the Instagram page. "See this? Every time he held me, took care of me, memorized my favorite things, made my dreams come trueit's all here. You've spent eight years with him. What do you actually have?"

I looked at the photos of them laughing in the snow, but I said nothing.

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You can play the fiance all you want, but he doesn't love you. If I were you, I'd have packed my bags and left to save whatever dignity I had left."

She stared at me, waiting for me to break, waiting for the tears.

But I only looked at her calmly. "So what? No matter what you did, the person marrying Drew is me."

The color drained from her face. I walked past her, opening the door without another word.

Outside, Drew was already waiting in his car. He didn't ask about the dinner; he drove in silence, the tension thick between us.

When he took a sharp right turn, I looked out the window. "This isn't the way to the condo."

Drew kept his eyes on the road. "Joyce drank too much tonight. She's going to be miserable tomorrow. I'm going to drop off some honey water and her favorite bakery cake."

I leaned my head back against the leather seat. "You treat her so much better than you treat me."

The tires screeched as Drew slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the curb. He turned to me, his voice raw with frustration.

"I've told you a thousand times, she's like a sister to me. It's a habit. I'm marrying you, Tina. Isn't that enough?"

I closed my eyes, too tired to argue. "It's enough."

When we finally parked outside our building, he kept the engine running, clearly eager to leave again.

As I unbuckled my seatbelt, I looked at him one last time. "Drew, if one day I left you, what would you do?"

He let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "Are you serious right now? Joyce's parents are out of town. She's completely alone. It's only right I look after her."

He paused, a smug, dismissive smirk pulling at his lips. "You've been with me since you were nineteen, Tina. Everything you have, I gave you. If you leave me, do you really think you'll find anyone better?"

I looked at him, feeling the final, lingering pieces of my love for him turn to ash.

He was entirely convinced that I would never leave, because he believed I had nowhere else to go.

I didn't answer. I got out of the car, and the moment the door clicked shut, he hit the gas and drove away.

Inside the quiet apartment, my phone buzzed. It was an email from United Airlines: Flight confirmation to Rome, Italy tomorrow morning at 10:30 AM...

I stared at the text, then walked into the bedroom and pulled my suitcase from the top shelf.

When I actually began packing, I realized how little of myself was in this space. My clothes, my laptop, a few skincare bottles. It barely filled a single suitcase.

Yet, Drews closet was packed with high-end, custom-tailored suits I had bought him with my savings. Dianes vanity in the guest room was lined with expensive organic supplements I had worked late-night freelance shifts to afford.

At 2:00 AM, my phone buzzed with a new post from Joyce@ChasingLights_WithYouJoyce.

The photo showed Drew sitting at the edge of a bed, gently wiping a damp cloth over Joyce's forehead. The caption: No matter how late, he's always there when I need him.

I locked the screen and set the phone down.

There were no tears, no anger. Just a profound, hollow silence.

The next morning, I made breakfast out of habittoasted sourdough, soft-scrambled eggs, and warm milk.

Drew let himself in around 7:00 AM, the cold morning air clinging to his coat. He kicked off his shoes, offering a quick, tired explanation. "Joyce was really sick last night. I couldn't leave her alone."

I set the plates on the table. "Okay."

My lack of emotion seemed to make him uneasy. His tone softened slightly. "After the photoshoot this afternoon, we'll lock down the wedding date and call your parents. Happy?"

I looked at his facethe face of the boy I had loved for eight years. "Drew, in these eight years, did you ever actually love me?"

Drew froze, his expression hardening instantly. "If I didn't love you, would I be marrying you?"

Eight years ago, when he was chasing me, he would stand outside my dorm in the freezing rain just to bring me coffee. He used to celebrate monthly anniversaries, finding tiny, beautiful ways to surprise me.

Now, there was only this transactional indifference.

Suddenly, his phone began to vibrate violently on the counter. It was a call from Joyce.

He answered, and her weak, trembling voice filled the quiet kitchen. "Drew... I'm so cold... I think my fever is coming back..."

Drews face went pale. He snatched his car keys off the counter.

I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Joyce has a full-time housekeeper, Drew. She doesn't need you there. Today is our wedding photoshoot. Can you just stay? Just this once?"

He looked down at my hand, his expression wavering for a fraction of a second, before hardening into irritation. "Tina, be reasonable. She's sick. I'll have the driver take you to the studio. Go ahead and start your makeup, I'll catch up as soon as her fever breaks."

He pulled his arm from my grip and walked out the door.

I looked at my empty hands, and a single, quiet tear slid down my cheek.

I took a deep breath, walked to the table, and laid a handwritten note next to his keys.

Drew, I cancelled the photoshoot. The wedding is off. These eight years end here.

Then, I opened my laptop. I compiled every screenshot, every folder of chat logs, every photo from the hidden couple's account, and uploaded them to a public post.

My caption was simple:

We ran a marathon for eight years, and you documented it for eight years. Since you love each other so much, I'm stepping aside. I hope you get exactly what you deserve.

I zipped my suitcase, walked out of the apartment, and headed to the airport.

On the other side of the city, Drew was sitting by Joyce's bed, carefully peeling an apple, when his phone began to ring off the hook.

He answered with a scowl. His friend's panicked voice came screaming through the line:

"Drew! That secret Instagram account with JoyceTina found out! She just put the whole thing online! Its going viral!"