My Husband Faked Our Wedding to Marry My Sister

I was folding the last of my clothes into a suitcase when the doorbell rang. I hesitated—maybe it was Scott? I checked my phone. No missed calls. With a sigh, I trudged to the door.

A large white box sat at the doorstep, tied with a gold ribbon. It was addressed to me. No note. Just my name in thick, calligraphic letters.

Curious, I brought it inside and slowly opened the lid.

And my heart nearly stopped. It was the gown. My gown.

The very design I had sketched years ago—the one I had dreamed of wearing if Troy and I ever had the wedding we never did. The ivory silk shimmered under the light, and the delicate lace sleeves were just as I envisioned. I reached for the bodice, fingers trembling. There was a tag stitched inside the fabric.

TAYLOR — hand-embroidered in gold thread.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Could it be? Could this be Troy’s way of making it up to me?

After everything—the distance, the betrayal, the hurt—was he finally ready to make things right? To finally give me the wedding he once said we didn’t need? Was this his silent apology?

For a moment, I let myself believe. I stepped into the gown, holding my breath as the fabric hugged me like it was meant for me all along. I turned slowly to the mirror, hands pressed to my chest, eyes misted with fragile hope.

And then the door flung open.

“Taylor—what the hell are you doing?!”

I flinched.

Troy stood at the doorway, face twisted in shock and fury. Before I could speak, he marched toward me and yanked the gown roughly off my shoulder, nearly tearing it.

“Why are you wearing that?!”

“I—” I stammered. “Isn’t this for me? It has my name… it’s the design I made, the one I always dreamed of. I thought—are we finally getting married?”

His laugh was cold. Cruel.

“Married? Are you insane? We are married.”

“But then… why this?” I whispered.

“It’s for Vanessa,” he snapped, brushing the fabric like I had stained it. “She always dreamed of a wedding. A real one. We’re giving it to her. It’s the least we could do. She’s sick.”

I stood frozen, unable to process it.

“She’s sick,” he repeated, as if that alone justified everything. “She wants to wear the gown, walk down the aisle and marry as she should have been five years ago. This was her dream.”

“But it’s my dream too,” I said quietly. “It was my design. Why use it for her when it was mine?”

Just then, Travis and Van entered the room.

“What’s all this yelling?” Travis asked, then scoffed when he saw the scene. “Oh, come on, Taylor. You’re not sick. Let her have this… and she likes your gown. You can design again.”

Van nodded. “You always make things about you. Just give her this moment. At least she deserves it.”

“She deserves my dream?” I choked out.

Vanessa stepped into the room, wrapped in her usual soft blanket like a fragile flower. “I’m sorry, sister. I just… I just want to get married. Walk the aisle once before… you know.” Her eyes watered as she looked at me with that same pitiful expression she always used to get what she wanted. “Please, I won’t take him forever. Just a moment. Just let me borrow your husband.”

I stared at them. At all of them.

“You all truly disappoint me,” I whispered.

Vanessa flinched.

“Do whatever you want,” I said. “Have your wedding. Steal my dress. Borrow my husband. Take it all.”

I turned and walked away. My steps were numb, but my chest burned.

Back in my room, I opened every drawer, every closet. I pulled out memories, clothes, old photos—every trace of the girl I used to be. And then I carried them outside, one by one. Into the metal barrel behind the house.

And I set them on fire.

The smoke curled up toward the sky like lost dreams disappearing. I watched the flames devour the photos of me and Troy, the love letters, the sketches of wedding gowns I once hoped to wear. I remembered how my brothers used to promise they'd protect me. How I thought I had a place in this family. How Vanessa used to cling to me, claiming I was her favorite sister.

Lies. All of it.

And as the last page of my sketchbook crumbled to ash, I felt arms wrap around me from behind.

“Tay… please,” Troy’s voice was low, breath warm against my ear. “I’m sorry. I know this hurts. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. Just… do this for her. She’s sick. You’re stronger. I know you are.”

I didn’t speak.

“How about this,” he whispered. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow, just the two of us. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I was too tired to fight.

“…Okay,” I said numbly.

“Thank you,” he breathed, kissing the top of my head.

That night, I finally closed my eyes, hoping for sleep to give me peace.

But just as I started to drift—

“TAYLOR! WAKE UP!”

I jolted. Troy stood over me, eyes frantic. “We need your blood. Now. Your sister needs a transfusion. You’re a match!”

“What?” I gasped.

“She’s fading fast,” he said, already dragging me from the bed. “Don’t be selfish, Taylor. Be useful for once. Be her blood bank.”