Three months before my wedding, my fiancé Henry dropped a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster.

The caption:

[Legally welcoming our little one into the world.]

Betty added a shy emoji. And my mom? She liked the post and wrote:

[Once the baby is born, I'll help take care of it so you two can enjoy your time together as a couple.]

I couldn't help myself. I replied with a single question mark. And then Henry's DMs came in hot:

[She's just borrowing me for a year to get married. Once the baby's born, I'll come back to you.]

[Don't be so petty. My mom already said we'll only get the marriage certificate after you give me a son. This way, we can have the wedding first—it's perfect.]

I hit him back with a cold [Mm,] wiped my profile clean of anything Henry-related, and posted a fresh update:

[Missing a groom—who's up for the job?]

Henry was the first to blow up my notifications:

[Daphne Diaz, are you out of your mind? It's just a marriage with her—do you really need to blow this out of proportion?]

[Did you seriously think a social media post would make me jealous?]

[That's hilarious. I'm warning you—stop making trouble, and don't make things hard for Betty.]

Oh, but Betty couldn't resist chiming in:

[Daphne, Henry just wants to give our baby a legitimate status. I'm not taking Henry from you. Once you and Henry get married, my baby can even call you Mom.]

And my mom had to throw in her two cents:

[Betty's helping you by doing this, and you're still not thankful? You get a baby without the pain—what more do you want?]

The comments section? A circus. Henry's friends turned it into open mic night:

[You and Betty are sisters. Whether Henry marries you or her, it's all the same family. Just share him—Monday, Wednesday, Friday for Betty, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for you!]

Everyone thought they were hilarious.

I just sat there, staring at my screen while this sour, bitter feeling crept up and choked me. Tears slid down before I could stop them, splashing onto my phone.

They were so in the wrong. And yet somehow, they had the nerve to act like I was the problem.

How ridiculous.

People like that weren't even worth my tears.

I wiped my face and scrolled through the chaos. Among the trash comments, one caught my eye:

[Can I be your groom?]

It was from Ray Regan.

Ray and I grew up together. After college, I stuck around Averton while he went abroad. When I started dating Henry, Ray stepped back, keeping his distance. We hadn't talked in years.

As I stared at his comment, a call came in—it was Ray.

""Daphne, I've liked you for a long time. You know that.

""I've always hated Betty, so you don't have to worry—I'll never have anything to do with her.

""I don't have vulgar friends, I've been focused on my career, and... I don't even have an ex-girlfriend.""

While he spoke, a message notification popped up. I opened it and froze. It was a contract—a full transfer of his assets and shares.

Before I could wrap my head around it, Ray's voice came back, nervous this time.

""Daphne, this is everything I have to offer. Will you give me a chance?""

A lump formed in my throat.

I suddenly remembered this one time when we were kids—our teacher gave Ray two of his favorite candies as a reward. He wanted them, I could tell, but he handed them both to me without hesitation.

Ray had always been like that—sincere.

Choking up, I whispered, ""I will.""

Love had always felt like sand slipping through my fingers. The harder I held on, the more it cut and bruised me. For a while, I thought I'd be better off alone.

But my grandma's dying wish had been to see me get married, to know I'd have someone by my side.

Henry didn't deserve me.

But if the groom was Ray? Grandma would finally rest easy.

Ray's voice lit up with joy. ""I'll wrap up my work and be back to marry you within two weeks. Daphne, you won't change your mind, right?""

There was this tiny thread of insecurity in his tone, and it took me back to when we were kids. I'd promised him then that I'd marry him when we grew up.

""I won't,"" I murmured.

A rush of emotion hit me like a tidal wave, and I had to blink back tears.

""Ray, let's seal it with a pinky promise.""

As soon as I hung up, my mom stormed into my room. ""Where's the sapphire necklace your father left you?""

I said nothing.

Her face twisted, all offended. ""What's with the attitude? Your sister thinks it's pretty and just wants to borrow it for a couple of days. Don't be so selfish!""

Cue Betty, clinging to her. ""Forget it, Mom,"" she said, with this fake little sigh. ""Daphne's never really seen me as her sister. If she doesn't want to, it's fine. I won't force her.""

Mom's voice shot up a notch. ""She doesn't get a choice! That necklace belonged to my husband, your father. And I'm deciding—it's Betty's now.""

Betty practically glowed while Mom doubled down. ""If you don't hand it over, I'll send someone to tear your room apart.""

I stared at her, my lips curving into a bitter smile—the kind that stings more than tears ever could.

The mom I used to remember—kind, warm—was gone. What stood in front of me now was someone cold and unrecognizable.

But whatever. I'd be out of here soon, and none of this would matter. No point wasting energy on another fight.

I grabbed the sapphire necklace from its case and handed it over, saying nothing.

Her face lit up. ""That's how it should be. Betty's your sister. As the older one, it's your job to let her have the better things.""

Then she left, and of course, Betty couldn't resist putting the necklace right in front of me.

""Daphne,"" she said, smirking, ""don't blame Mom for playing favorites. Honestly, this necklace just suits me better.

""Kind of like Henry—he's a much better match for me than for you.

""What's mine will always stay mine, no matter what anyone tries.""

I stared at her smug little face, said absolutely nothing, and grabbed my bag. Engaging with her would just fuel her drama addiction, and I wasn't about to be her entertainment.

I headed for the stairs, brushing past her like she was invisible.

Then—classic Betty—she darted in front of me, throwing on her best fake panic. ""Ah! Daphne, why did you push me?"" she cried, flailing as she dramatically stumbled backward toward the staircase.

As much as I couldn't stand Betty, my instincts kicked in. Those stairs were steep—like, twenty steps steep—and without thinking, I reached out to grab her.

Before I could steady her, Henry appeared out of nowhere and slapped my hand away. ""Daphne Diaz, you vicious woman!"" he yelled.

My hand smacked against the banister with a loud thud. Pain shot through it, sharp enough to make cold sweat break out on my forehead.

Betty, meanwhile, collapsed into his arms like she was auditioning for a tearjerker. ""Henry, thank goodness you came in time,"" she sobbed. ""If you hadn't...""

""Shh, don't be scared,"" Henry crooned, stroking her hair. ""I won't let anyone hurt you.""

I glanced down at my hand—already swelling, bruising, and possibly broken.

Then I looked at Betty, perfectly fine and soaking up Henry's attention.

It was so ridiculous I almost laughed.

This was the guy who once swore he'd love me forever. The guy I was supposed to marry in three months.

How do you fall out of love that fast?

Henry shot me a glare. ""I get it—you've been holding a grudge ever since I married Betty and, well, the whole 'got her pregnant behind your back' thing. Yeah, I should've told you sooner.""

""But that doesn't mean you can hurt her,"" he continued. ""She's been through so much. All she wanted was to be a mom. Is that really so wrong? Why does she have to deal with your anger too?""

Then he pointed at me. ""You owe her an apology. Today.""

I could feel my whole body shaking, but I forced myself to stay calm. My voice came out rough. ""What did I do wrong? Tell me. What exactly did I do wrong?""

That threw him. He just stood there, totally caught off guard by the redness in my eyes.

And then, cue Betty with her soft, tragic sigh. ""It's fine, Henry. Forget it. Even though I almost died just now...

""I don't blame Daphne. I don't need her apology. You two are getting married soon, and I don't want to cause any drama.""

Henry sighed and looked at her with tenderness. ""Betty, your selflessness... it's heartbreaking sometimes.""

Then he whipped his laser glare back at me. ""The truth is, you're just jealous of Betty. You can't stand seeing her happier than you.

""But since she spoke up for you, I'll let it go this time. If you ever hurt her again, though, I won't forgive you.""

He scooped her up, pausing to hit me with one last soul-crushing glance. ""You'll never measure up to Betty.""

Mic drop.

The room went dead silent.

I just stood there, staring out the window, watching leaves spiral to the ground like my last shred of dignity. And then it hit me.

This was it.

I crouched down, covered my face, and finally let it all out.

For the last time.

Because this was the last time I was crying over Henry freaking Siebert.

***

That afternoon, Henry went full social media king with a nine-picture post.

Every shot? Corners of the house we were supposed to share after the wedding.

The caption read:

[Every room, every piece of furniture, every decoration—I chose them all myself, to give my baby a warm and happy home.]

Cue the peanut gallery in the comments:

[Congrats, Henry! Wishing you a healthy baby!]

[So you and Daphne are having a baby before the wedding? Congrats!]

[Your future wife is so lucky to have a husband like you. Jealous!]

[Canceling all my billion-dollar deals to make sure I'm at the wedding in three months!]

Then Betty swooped in:

[Everyone, please don't misunderstand. This isn't Henry's wedding house—it's mine.]

And just like that, the comment section flatlined.

Breaking the awkward silence, I dropped my own mic:

[This third-wheel game isn't for me. I'm out. Best wishes to you both.]

No waiting for likes or angry replies—I deleted Henry and Betty faster than a bad selfie.

A few minutes later, Henry called.

""Daphne, haven't you had enough?"" he practically screamed.

I stayed chill. ""I'm not making a scene.""

""Oh, really?"" he snapped. ""What you said on my post—that wasn't a scene? Just trying to smear Betty, huh? Do you really need to paint her as the other woman to feel better? If you keep slandering her, then we won't get married!""

Honestly, I felt nothing. His words hit like a wet noodle. My heart? Totally dead sea levels of calm.

""Henry,"" I said, steady as a rock, ""what makes you think I'd want someone else's leftovers?""