When my sister Beth suddenly announced she was engaged after meeting someone at a wellness retreat, I was genuinely excited for her. I wanted to believe this was the fresh start she needed. But as her wedding day grew closer, Beth started acting weirder and more nervous than usual. Something deep inside me whispered that something was terribly wrong.
Let me tell you about my sister Beth — because you need to understand her to really get this story.
Beth is what I’d call beautifully intense. She’s two years older than me, and she’s always been this amazing mix of creativity and passion. She has this way of seeing magic in everyday things — like when she reads romance novels, it’s not just for fun; she reads them like they’re instruction manuals on how life should be. She truly believes everyone deserves a fairy tale ending.
Growing up, Beth was the dreamer, and I was the realist. She’d spend hours writing stories about princesses and knights, imagining faraway kingdoms and perfect loves. Meanwhile, I was busy doing homework, thinking about college, and making plans for a steady future. But that’s what made us great as sisters — she brought color and wonder to my organized life, and I helped keep her feet on the ground when her imagination flew too far.
Beth’s always been someone who falls in love fast, and hard. In high school, she’d meet a guy on Monday and by Friday she was already imagining their wedding. She’d write their names together in her notebooks and dream about their future life.
Most of those crushes fizzled out quickly, but Beth never lost faith in true love.
So when she told me about Marcus, a guy she’d been dating seriously for almost two years, I saw a different Beth. She was glowing, talking about marriage, kids, the dream house — everything seemed perfect. I’d never seen her so sure about anything.
Then one day, she showed up at my apartment, tears streaming down her face.
“Marcus was cheating on me,” she sobbed. “With a coworker. For months.”
She told me he had been telling others that she was “too clingy” and “lived in a fantasy world.” That crushed her. Completely shattered her.
After that, Beth changed. The outgoing, social girl I knew disappeared. She stopped calling our parents. She barely replied to my texts. She quit her book club and shut down her social life.
Whenever I tried to visit, she’d say she was busy or too tired. It felt like watching someone slowly vanish.
Six months passed in silence until one day, Beth told me she needed a total reset. She found this wellness retreat in Arizona that promised healing and self-discovery.
“I need space to find out who I am without someone else,” she told me over coffee, her voice soft and tired.
We all understood. Beth needed time to heal. Maybe this retreat would help her find her spark again.
She was gone for three weeks. When she came back, it was like a light had returned to her eyes. She was almost like the old Beth again.
That’s when she told us about Nathaniel.
“I met someone,” she said, eyes sparkling. “His name is Nathaniel. He’s kind, thoughtful, and he really sees me for who I am.”
I wasn’t surprised she’d met someone — Beth’s beautiful and funny, and she has a way of making people feel special. But what surprised me was how fast everything was happening.
Within two months of returning from Arizona, Beth announced they were engaged. She showed up at Sunday dinner wearing a simple engagement ring, practically glowing with happiness.
“It happened so fast,” she explained to our stunned parents. “He proposed during a sunset hike — it was absolutely perfect.”
Beth said Nathaniel was from overseas and that his visa situation was complicated. They needed to marry quickly so he could stay in the country while handling his work.
“It’ll be a small ceremony,” she promised. “Just family and a few close friends. His groomsmen are flying in from abroad, then he’ll return overseas to finish some projects.”
We hadn’t met Nathaniel yet, which felt strange but not impossible given the circumstances.
Whenever I asked to see photos or suggested we all meet, Beth had an answer.
“He’s old-fashioned about pictures,” she said. “He thinks they steal the moment’s magic.”
Or, “He’s shy around new people. I want our first meeting to be perfect.”
Looking back, I realize we all had quiet doubts. Why the secrecy? Why no video calls? Why rush everything? But Beth looked happy — happier than I’d seen in years — and none of us wanted to spoil that.
The morning of Beth’s wedding, I arrived early at the little chapel downtown to help with final preparations. The place was stunning — soft lights, white roses everywhere, a peaceful vibe. It felt like a dream.
Beth was already in bridal mode, curled hair, perfect makeup. She looked breathtaking, but something was off. Instead of calm excitement, she seemed nervous, pacing back and forth, talking so fast it felt like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
“Nathaniel’s parents are flying in from London,” she babbled. “They’re so formal and proper. I hope I don’t mess up the handshake.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” she continued breathlessly. “He’s thoughtful but shy in crowds — that’s why his groomsmen will handle most of the social stuff.”
“They planned this symbolic entrance with special music,” she said, eyes shining. “It represents two souls joining across continents. Isn’t that romantic?”
I tried to stay with her, calm her down, but Beth insisted she needed to be alone.
“Just let me soak in the moment,” she told me, brushing me, Mom, and even her maid of honor away.
Guests started filling the chapel. I looked around and saw mostly family and Beth’s work friends and book club members. But I didn’t see a single person who looked like Nathaniel’s family or friends. I told myself they might be late or seated somewhere else.
The ceremony began. Beth appeared at the back of the chapel looking radiant, walking slowly down the aisle with the biggest smile I’d ever seen.
But when she reached the altar and stood there, I noticed something terrifying — she was alone.
The music changed, signaling the groom’s entrance. Every eye turned toward the door.
We waited. And waited.
But no Nathaniel. No groomsmen. No family from overseas.
Then Dad stood up from the front pew. I saw him walk toward Beth with a pink leather journal in his hand. My heart dropped.
Dad took the microphone from the confused officiant, his hands shaking.
“I’m sorry, everyone. This wedding has to be canceled. Please, leave now.”
The chapel buzzed with shocked murmurs.
Dad held up the pink journal for all to see.
“There is no groom,” he said, voice cracking. “Nathaniel isn’t real. His groomsmen don’t exist. No one is flying in from anywhere. I found this journal in Beth’s bridal suite — it’s full of letters to a man who doesn’t exist.”
What happened was this: Dad had gone to check on Beth one last time before the ceremony started. He knocked — no answer. The room was messy, hairpins and makeup scattered everywhere.
That’s when he spotted the pink journal open next to her practice bouquet. He thought it might be vows or wedding plans.
But inside were pages and pages of letters to “Nathaniel.”
One-sided conversations. Imagined arguments. Made-up dates. A detailed fantasy relationship that existed only in Beth’s mind.
Dad looked at Beth, trembling at the altar. Her makeup streaked, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“She needs help,” Dad said quietly into the microphone. “Not applause. Not congratulations. She needs professional help — and our support.”
That’s when Beth completely broke down.
“You ruined everything!” she screamed at Dad. “You don’t understand! He was real to me! Everything was real!”
Guests started quietly leaving, some stopping to comfort Mom and Dad, others slipping away to escape the heartbreak.
All I could see was my sister standing alone, in her beautiful wedding dress, sobbing into her veil as her fantasy shattered.
I walked up to her, sat beside her on the altar steps, ignoring my bridesmaid dress and the eyes watching us.
Beth collapsed on my shoulder, crying harder than I’d ever seen.
“He felt so real to me, Stacey,” she whispered. “Every conversation, every moment. I could see his face, hear his voice, feel his hand in mine. How can something that felt so real not exist?”
We got Beth the help she needed. The next months were hard for our family. We worked with therapists and doctors, trying to understand what had happened.
Beth was eventually diagnosed with a complex trauma response and dissociative coping disorder. It stemmed from her devastating breakup with Marcus and years of emotional pain and loneliness.
Healing wasn’t quick or easy. Beth had to face the truth — she’d created a fantasy world to protect herself from the pain of being alone. She had to learn healthy ways to cope and build real connections.
Slowly, with therapy, medicine, and our family’s love, Beth began to heal.
She reconnected with old friends, joined a trauma support group, and even started dating again — but this time with realistic expectations and professional support.
Four years later, Beth met Jordan at an art therapy class. He was quiet, kind, a software engineer who loved her creativity and chaos without trying to change her.
Their love grew slowly, built on true friendship and respect.
When Beth and Jordan got married last spring, it was a simple ceremony in our parents’ backyard.
And this time, as Beth walked down the aisle, her eyes locked on Jordan’s face — solid, real, and smiling with tears.
I can’t explain how happy I was for her. Finally, Beth had found the real love she’d been waiting for.
