My sister told me more than once that she wanted to find a boyfriend like my godfather’s fiancé. Then she fell in love—flew twenty-five hours straight just to celebrate some man’s birthday. I opened my mouth to talk her out of it, but she looked up at me and shook her head. “You don’t get it, sis. Every year, someone else is there for his birthday. Never me.” “This time, I want to be the one.” When her boyfriend found out over the phone, his voice dripped with contempt: “She flew internationally just to celebrate some guy’s birthday? Is she out of her mind?” The night after I dropped Anna at the airport, I was scrolling through her social media and saw the photo. A man’s back. Broad shoulders. A scar on the nape of his neck. The shape, the placement, the curve of that scar—identical to my fiancé’s. The caption was simple: Happy birthday. And the ring on his hand was the same as mine. That’s when it hit me. Anna’s boyfriend and mine were the same person. She’d gone to celebrate Damon’s birthday. … Today was Damon’s birthday. He’d told me not to bother—said he’d make it up to me when he got back, that it was all the same. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to celebrate. It was that someone was already celebrating with him. And that someone was my own sister. I didn’t hesitate long. Screenshot. Save. Send. The message sank like a stone. Damon didn’t reply. But my phone lit up. It was Anna. A photo—a cake centered in the frame, a man’s right hand accidentally caught at the edge. The ring on his fourth finger was even clearer now. It was the ring he’d worn when he proposed to me. Damon had gone abroad to personally negotiate an arms deal. Before he left, he’d knelt on one knee, slid the ring onto my finger, and said when he came back, we’d get married. I stared at my chat with Anna. Didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? Why are you with your future brother-in-law? What exactly have I been waiting a year for? I’d always known Anna had someone in her heart. For a whole year, she’d been flying abroad two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she’d lock herself in her room. I assumed she was heartbroken over someone she couldn’t have. When I mentioned it to Damon once, he scoffed. His tone was pure disdain. He’d never had patience for Anna. So I never let my mind go there. Never considered that every single one of Anna’s flights landed in the exact city where Damon was stationed. Never questioned how their birthdays just happened to fall on the same day—that it was never just a coincidence. Never asked who was lying beside him on all those nights he refused to video-call me. My phone lit up again. Damon sent four words. [What’s that supposed to mean?] He wouldn’t admit the man in the photo was him. [The person in her photo—isn’t that you?] The phone rang. Damon spoke first. “Evelyn, let me explain when I get back.” My gaze drifted to the calendar on the table. The date of his return was circled in red marker, with a small heart drawn beside it. “Don’t go looking for her.” His voice dropped low. “Please?” That tone—it was pure protectiveness. My eyes burned suddenly, my throat clamping shut like something had closed around it. “Why?” I asked him. Silence on the other end. Then he sighed and said, “Evelyn, wait until I’m back. We’ll talk about everything when I’m back.” Before he even finished, a voice drifted through from his end of the line. “Damon, is that my sister calling?” Damon’s voice changed instantly. Soft. Gentle. Like he was soothing a startled cat. “No.” “Just a friend.”
I didn’t want to hear another word. Five years together. Vows we’d made before both our families. And in the end, to Damon, I was “just a friend.” I hung up. His message came through almost immediately. [Anna doesn’t really want me mentioning you around her. It makes her feel guilty.] I stared at that sentence for a long time. She felt guilty too? Then why go behind my back and be with my fiancé? That night, I saw another post from Anna. This time it was a photo of two hands, fingers interlaced, against the backdrop of candlelight and linen at an upscale restaurant. I noticed the ring on Damon’s hand had changed. It wasn’t our engagement ring anymore. And on Anna’s ring finger, there was a new one too. Matching Damon’s. Someone in the comments asked: [When did you get married?! You didn’t even say anything!] Anna replied quickly: [We’re not married lol, it was a proposal—he proposed on his birthday. I still haven’t recovered, it feels like a dream.] Followed by a string of happy emojis. I looked at it for a very long time. Then I liked the post. If it was a proposal, then our engagement was over. Five minutes later, Damon’s message came through: [She just wanted to know what it feels like to be proposed to. It wasn’t a real proposal. Don’t take it to heart.] [She’s been through enough already. Let’s put our stuff on hold for now.] I turned off my phone and went to the kitchen. When I opened the fridge to grab a bottle of wine, there was a custom magnet on the door. A photo of us. The normally stern godfather, looking at me with tenderness he couldn’t hide. When he’d confessed to me, he was holding a small bouquet of balloon flowers—their meaning: “eternal love.” My hands were shaking when I took them. He looked down at me and said: “I know this is a family arrangement. But I want to ask you first—do you want this?” Back then, I believed the arrangement was just how we met. Falling in love was the choice we made. I stared at that magnet for two seconds. Then I peeled it off and threw it in the trash without hesitation. The day Damon came back to the country, he came back with Anna. I was waiting at arrivals. He’d told me not to come, said he’d take a cab. But I came anyway. Not to pick him up—to see it with my own eyes. To see what they looked like standing together. Anna came out first. She wore a beige trench coat, her complexion rosy, her hair longer than before—golden waves freshly curled. She looked radiant. Like a flower someone had been tending with great care. She ran over and threw her arms around me, her voice sweet and bright. “Your fiancé happened to be flying back today too, so I just tagged along! Same route anyway.” My eyes dropped to Anna’s hand. That proposal ring. She was still wearing it. Then I looked at Damon. The matching ring—the one that went with Anna’s—was gone. He’d switched back to our engagement band. Anna looked at me with the most natural expression in the world. Not a trace of guilt. Not a hint of shame. As if nothing had ever happened. As if she and Damon had never been together. If she hadn’t been wearing that ring, I might have almost believed it. I took a step back. Anna’s expression stiffened for just a moment, then returned to normal. That’s when Damon spoke. “Anna’s just worried about you.” I almost laughed out loud. Worried? How could he even say that? “Oh really? If she’s so worried, then why did she—” “Evelyn.” Damon cut me off. I met his warning stare. I knew that look too well. It was how he looked when he was angry—eyes going dark, lips pressed into a hard line. That look used to be reserved for outsiders. For rival families. For anyone who dared touch what was his. Now it was aimed at me. He was afraid I’d say more. Afraid Anna would hear. Even the slightest mention made him this tense. “It’s late. Just stay here tonight—going back and forth is too exhausting.” Anna looked at me hesitantly. “Would that be… inconvenient?” She shook her head, stepping back half a pace. “Never mind, I’ll just go home.” Damon frowned. “It’s not safe going back this late. Leave tomorrow.” Anna stayed. No one asked my opinion. Damon made the decision, and I said nothing. I turned and went to the bedroom. Damon followed me in. Neither of us spoke first. He leaned against the doorframe and lit a cigarette, the ember glowing and fading in the dim light, smoke rising slowly, blurring his silhouette. When the cigarette was done, he crushed the butt into the ashtray on the windowsill and finally spoke, his voice raw. “It’s not what you think.” “Anna never expected anything real between us. She’s in pain too.” “She didn’t want this either.” I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. Silent. I looked at this man—this man I’d known for seven years, been with for five, waited an entire year for—and for the first time, he felt like a stranger. My sister. The one I’d grown up with. Together with my fiancé. And Damon was telling me she was in pain. “What about me?” I asked him. My voice was quiet. No tears. No shouting. Just a question. Damon was silent for a long time. Then he looked away. “Evelyn, give us a little more time.” “When did it start?” His expression shifted. He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn’t answer. “Seven months ago.” That was five months into his time abroad. During that period, Anna flew out two or three times a month. Every time she came back, she looked terrible—locked herself in her room for an entire day without coming out. I’d thought she was hurting over a failed pursuit. Now I understood. She was going to see him. And every time she came back, she shut herself away to digest her own guilt. Damon closed his eyes, then opened them and turned to face me. “At first I said no.” He paused. “But then…” He didn’t finish. “Evelyn, just one more month. At least give her some time. Okay?” I looked at him. “No.” My voice was barely there—quiet as a sigh. “Damon, if she’s suffering this much, just be with her.” I looked down and slowly twisted the ring off my fourth finger. A ring I’d worn for an entire year. When it came off, it left a faint imprint on the skin where it had sat. The skin had been pressed too long. It wouldn’t go back to the way it was—not right away. I placed the ring on the nightstand. Didn’t throw it. Didn’t slam it down. Just set it there gently. “Let’s break up.”
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