Part 1His Marriage Was a Backdoor to My Sister

I was five when I had the fever. A high, blinding one.

The doctors said it was the delayed treatment that left me permanently a beat behind. A little slower, a little weaker, never quite catching up to the world around me.

Next to me, my sister, Genevieve, two years younger, was a burst of effervescent sunlight—quick, graceful, and adored. Of course, she was the favorite. Even the boy who was supposed to marry me—my childhood crush and eventual fiancé—grew to dislike my clumsy presence and broke the engagement for her.

The only constant, the only harbor, was Callum.

“Don’t cry, you little fool,” he’d say, pulling me into the crook of his arm. “If they won’t have you, I will.”

I clung to Callum. He was the one person who saw past the C-minus grades and the perpetually lost expression.

Then, I saw him comforting Genevieve.

“You love Rhys,” he was saying, his voice a low, rough velvet. “I’ll step aside, willingly.”

Genevieve was weeping, her head buried in his chest.

“Since I can’t be with you the way I want,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I’ll get engaged to your sister. I’ll become family in a different sense. I just need to be near you, Genevieve.”

A shard of ice shot through me.

“I’ve always loved you,” he finished, his voice breaking.

Ah. It turned out that even Callum, my rock, was never truly mine.

* * *

I stepped back, my feet frozen to the spot. I had come to find Callum, hoping to ask if he had time to accompany me to a doctor's appointment. I thought I might be pregnant.

The doctor, a girl I vaguely remembered from high school, smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You’re definitely pregnant.”

Then, her face softened with concern. “But you came alone?”

I sat in the sterile hospital corridor, tracing the faint shadow of the ultrasound image on the sheet. I gently touched the paper with my thumb.

“Will you be as unwelcome as I am?” I whispered to the shadow. “It’s alright. Mama will love you. Don't be afraid to come into this world.”

Callum was waiting when I got home, his expression tight with anxiety.

“Where did you run off to? You didn’t answer your phone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

Seeing me safe, the tension eased from his shoulders. His voice softened as he took the medical sheet from my hand. “What’s this you’re holding?”

I wanted to show him. I opened my mouth. “Callum—”

Genevieve’s voice cut through the air. “I’m home!”

Callum’s gaze lifted, pulled away by her voice as effortlessly as a tether cut free. He discreetly released my hand.

“Your sister’s back. Let’s eat.”

The table was set with all of Genevieve’s favorite dishes. I had no appetite. A wave of involuntary nausea seized me, and I clapped a hand over my mouth, suppressing a dry heave.

Callum, mid-motion of preparing the meal for Genevieve, paused. He frowned at me, his eyes sharp with subtle rebuke.

“Aubrey, don’t be dramatic.”

“You need to get over this picky eating of yours.”

Genevieve was pregnant. But her husband, Rhys, was on an overseas business trip when a local conflict erupted. He was still missing. Worried about her, my parents had moved her into my house.

“Aubrey, all you do is your little drawing and painting anyway. It’s not a real job,” my mother had lectured me. “We’re all so busy. You need to take good care of your sister, watch over her, and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“Right now, Genevieve comes first. Everything is about Genevieve.”

I had heard versions of this speech my whole life. Unlike healthy, bright Genevieve, I was the slow one, the sickly one, the straight C-minus student who always made my parents sigh and worry.

I couldn’t tell when other children were teasing me. Once, my mother had plucked a handful of weeds that had been thrown on my head and flung them onto the pavement, her face tight with fury.

“Why are you so stupid? Can’t you fight back?”

When I was sick and wanted to climb into my father’s embrace, he would push me away, his expression grim.

“Aubrey, I have to take your sister to her conservatory competition. Stop making a scene.”

Even Genevieve would ask me, when my hospitalization meant they had to cut short her family vacation: “Sister, why are you always such a pain?”

My family poured all their energy and dreams into the healthy, talented, and beautiful Genevieve.

In the beginning, when Rhys and I were still engaged, he used to visit me. He’d bring little toys or books. I loved Rhys. But as we got older, he stopped coming. He and Genevieve grew closer, their bond glittering and undeniable.

If someone suggested including me in their plans, Rhys would wave a dismissive hand.

“Don’t bother calling her. She’s boring.”

“How can two sisters be so different, from the same parents? Genevieve is a swan, and she’s just… the forgettable understudy.”

The first boy I ever loved fell for my sister. I took the small, carefully wrapped gift I’d prepared for Rhys and hid it, retreating from their orbit. I learned to disappear.

Only Callum was different.

He would find me when I was hiding and crying.

He would sit by the lake and light a birthday candle for me when everyone else forgot. He never missed a year after that.

When I was twenty, Rhys publicly and cruelly ended our engagement: “Lian Zhixia is too slow and boring! Who would marry her?” Callum had taken my hand, led me away, and said, “I will.”

I looked into the mirror, at my own swollen, red eyes. If only Callum hadn’t been lying.