When my sister Beth told us she was getting married after meeting a man at a wellness retreat, I was truly happy for her. She looked excited, full of hope again—and after everything she’d been through, she deserved some happiness. But as the big day came closer, something about her started to feel… off. Strange. Like she was floating too far away from reality.
Let me tell you about Beth.
Beth has always been… different. In a magical way. She’s two years older than me, and growing up, she was this whirlwind of creativity and color. She believed in fairy tales with all her heart. She read romance novels the way some people study for exams—like they were the rulebook for how life should go. She used to say, “Everyone deserves a fairy tale. Not just in books. In real life too.”
Beth was the dreamer. I was the planner.
While I was writing out to-do lists and thinking about scholarships and internships, Beth was lost in her imagination, writing stories about princesses, castles, and happily-ever-afters. But we made a great team as sisters. I grounded her when she flew too high, and she lifted me when I got stuck in the real world too long.
And when it came to love? Beth didn’t tiptoe—she leaped.
In high school, she’d fall for someone by Monday and be doodling their wedding cake by Friday. “It just feels right,” she’d say, sighing as she decorated her notebook with hearts and initials. Most of those romances fizzled out fast, but Beth never gave up on love. Not even once.
That’s why what happened with Marcus crushed her.
They’d been together nearly two years. I’d never seen her so sure about anyone. She talked about wedding themes, baby names, and their future house like it was already real. She was glowing with joy—until the day she showed up at my apartment crying so hard she could barely breathe.
“He cheated on me,” she whispered. “For months. With some woman from his office.”
Then she added something worse—something that stuck with me: “He told people I was clingy. That I live in some fantasy world.”
Beth shattered that day.
The bright, talkative sister I knew disappeared. She stopped texting, stopped calling. She even left the book club she’d loved for years. Whenever I tried to visit, she’d say, “Not today. I’m tired,” or just not answer at all.
After six months of this silence, she finally called me and said she needed a change.
“I found this retreat in Arizona,” she told me over coffee. Her face looked pale and worn-out. “It’s for healing and figuring yourself out. I need space… I need to find out who I am without someone else.”
Honestly, it sounded like a great idea. She clearly needed something big to help her reset.
She was gone for three weeks. And when she came back, something about her had shifted. She smiled again. She started showing up to family dinners. She even joked a little.
That’s when she told us about Nathaniel.
“I met someone,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “His name’s Nathaniel. He’s amazing. So thoughtful and kind. He really sees me.”
I wasn’t shocked that Beth had met someone. She’s beautiful, charming, and makes people feel like they’re the most interesting person in the room.
But I was surprised by how fast things were moving.
Just two months after she came back, Beth announced she and Nathaniel were engaged. She arrived at Sunday dinner wearing a simple gold ring and practically bouncing with joy.
“It happened during a sunset hike,” she told us. “He proposed right there on the trail. It was perfect. When you know, you know, right?”
Our parents were stunned. Honestly, we all were. But she looked so happy, we didn’t want to question it.
Beth explained that Nathaniel was from another country and had a tricky work visa situation. They had to marry quickly so he could stay and handle some business things.
“It’ll be a small wedding,” she promised. “Just close friends and family. His groomsmen are flying in from overseas. After the wedding, he’ll go wrap up a few things and be back in a few weeks.”
We hadn’t met Nathaniel yet. Or even seen a picture.
Whenever I asked to meet him, she’d dodge.
“He’s old-fashioned,” she’d say. “He thinks pictures steal a moment’s magic.”
Or: “He’s just really shy. I want your first meeting to be special.”
Looking back, we should’ve pushed harder. Why no photos? No phone calls? Why did everything feel rushed and secret?
But after what she went through with Marcus, no one wanted to be the person who questioned her joy.
The morning of the wedding, I arrived early to help set up. The chapel downtown was glowing—white roses everywhere, soft music playing, candles lining the aisle.
But as soon as I stepped into the bridal suite, I felt something was off.
Beth looked gorgeous—her makeup was perfect, her curls bouncing—but her energy was all wrong. She was pacing, rambling, almost frantic.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she said quickly. “They’re so proper. I hope I make a good impression. I’ve been practicing my handshake.”
She didn’t stop talking.
“You’ll love him, Stacey. He’s so gentle. And shy. That’s why he asked his groomsmen to handle the social stuff. They’ve planned this whole entrance with music. It’s symbolic—two souls from different continents joining together. Isn’t that so romantic?”
I tried to calm her down, but she kept brushing me off.
“I need to soak in the moment,” she said, practically pushing me out. “I want to reflect alone before I walk down the aisle.”
She even sent Mom and her maid of honor out. Alone in the final moments before her wedding? That wasn’t like Beth.
Guests filled the chapel. I looked around for unfamiliar faces—maybe Nathaniel’s family. But all I saw were Beth’s friends, our cousins, and a few people from her work.
Maybe his side was running late?
Then the wedding coordinator gave the signal. Music started. Beth appeared, glowing in her white dress, smiling so brightly I almost forgot to worry.
Until she got to the altar.
And no one else was there.
We all turned as the music changed, expecting the groom’s entrance.
But the doors stayed closed.
No Nathaniel. No groomsmen. No overseas family.
Just silence.
That’s when I saw Dad stand up, his face pale. He was holding something—a pink leather journal.
My stomach turned.
He walked slowly to the front and took the microphone from the confused officiant.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said, voice shaking. “But this wedding… it’s not happening. Please. Everyone needs to leave.”
Gasps filled the room. Confused whispers rippled through the guests.
Dad held up the journal. “There is no groom,” he said. “Nathaniel isn’t real. None of his groomsmen exist. I found this journal in Beth’s suite. It’s full of letters to a man who doesn’t exist.”
He explained how he’d knocked on her door before the ceremony. When she didn’t answer, he went inside—and found her bouquet tossed aside and the journal wide open.
The pages weren’t notes or vows.
They were love letters. Hundreds of them. All addressed to “Nathaniel.”
Each one described imaginary dates, conversations, even fights—like she was living in an entirely different world.
She had created an entire relationship in her mind.
When Dad looked at her, Beth was frozen at the altar. Tears streamed down her face.
“She needs help,” Dad said into the mic, his voice breaking. “Not celebration. Not pity. She needs help. And she needs us.”
That’s when Beth collapsed.
“You ruined everything!” she screamed. “You don’t understand! He was real to me! Every part of him was real!”
People began quietly leaving, whispering as they went. Phones were out. I knew this story would be all over social media by the end of the day.
But I didn’t care.
All I saw was my sister—alone at the altar, crumbling, crying into her veil.
I walked up the aisle and sat beside her on the steps, wrapping my arms around her.
She leaned into me, sobbing.
“He felt so real, Stacey,” she whispered. “I could hear his voice. I could feel his hand in mine. How could something that felt so real… not be real?”
We got Beth the help she needed.
The months that followed were incredibly hard. But with doctors and therapy, we finally understood: Beth had been suffering from a trauma response and a dissociative coping disorder. Her heartbreak with Marcus and the isolation afterward had pushed her mind to create Nathaniel—to protect her from pain.
Healing didn’t happen overnight. Beth had to rebuild her life from the ground up. She had to learn how to be present. How to build real connections again.
But slowly, she got better.
She joined a trauma support group. She reconnected with old friends. And eventually, she started dating again—with support from her therapist.
Four years later, Beth met Jordan. They met at an art therapy class. He was quiet, gentle, a software engineer who loved the way she saw the world.
Their love story grew slowly, honestly, and deeply.
Last spring, Beth and Jordan got married in Mom and Dad’s backyard.
This time, when she walked down the aisle, her eyes locked with his. He was standing there—real, steady, with tears in his eyes.
And I swear, in that moment, I saw the fairy tale Beth had always dreamed of.
Only this time, it was real.
