Hey Sis, You Can Keep the Trash

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé, Henry Siebert, decided it was the perfect time to drop a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster.

The caption? Oh, just this gem:

[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."