His 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.

1 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. 2. My birthday was just two days after the hospital visit. I saw the tickets tucked into Callum’s jacket pocket: two passes to the VIP viewing deck for the biggest Summer Firework Spectacular in the neighboring city. “Callum, I don’t want to go there for my birthday,” I said quietly. His eyes froze for a split second. He smoothly withdrew the tickets, deliberated, and then said, “Aubrey, these aren’t for you.” “Genevieve said she wanted a change of scenery to clear her head. I can’t let her go alone.” Suddenly, I was eighteen again, back in the darkness of a night when the whole family was celebrating Genevieve’s latest trophy, and no one remembered my birthday. Every bone in my body felt a faint ache. I managed to make my voice sound light. “What about me, then? It’s my birthday that night.” Callum pinched the bridge of his nose. “Genevieve is still very fragile right now. If we throw a big party for you, it might upset her.” He looked at me with an earnest plea. “Aubrey, birthdays can be celebrated later. Just this once. We grew up together; we should look out for each other.” “Besides, you don’t like big crowds anyway. I promise I’ll come home as early as I can. Be mature about this.” On my birthday, I saw the photos on Genevieve’s social media feed. The bright, dazzling fireworks framed her silhouette and Callum’s. She was making a wish for her baby’s health and for news of Rhys. Callum’s profile, steady and knight-like, suddenly brought back a flood of forgotten details from my nineteenth birthday. That year, the neighboring city held its first firework show, and we all went. Rhys and Genevieve vanished into the crowd almost immediately. The chaotic human tide nearly caused a stampede. I couldn’t breathe, my heart hammering in my ears. Just as I stumbled, Callum fought his way through the crush and shielded me. When he saw only me, he looked startled. He craned his neck, looking around desperately. “Where’s Genevieve?” When they finally rejoined us, Genevieve’s face was flushed, her hand tightly laced with Rhys’s. She smiled brightly. “Callum, were you looking for me? I just saw your text that you needed to talk.” Callum’s gaze dropped to their interlocked hands, then back to Genevieve’s radiant smile. Rhys scoffed, a flicker of hostility in his eyes. “What, you planning on declaring your feelings to Genevieve tonight too?” Callum’s arm suddenly wrapped around my shoulder, and he laughed, the sound hollow. “I was actually looking for you two to secretly brainstorm what we should do for Aubrey’s birthday.” Genevieve, in the first flush of love, saw my closeness with Callum through a lens of romance. “Wow, Callum, you’re so good to my sister.” She emphasized the word good. Amidst the explosions of light, Callum handed me a small box he’d been clutching. “Happy birthday, Aubrey.” I held the small box carefully, overwhelmed, my ears burning red. I was so dense. It took me all these years to realize the truth. I finally understood why, when he couldn’t find them in the crowd that night, Callum had frantically called Genevieve’s name. I understood the controlled grief and loss in his eyes when he looked at Genevieve and Rhys. And why the gift he gave me that night was a necklace shaped like a cello. I understood the way his eyes had darted away when I’d said excitedly, “Thank you for remembering my birthday.” Callum didn’t come home before the new day arrived. I blew out the candles on my small cake alone. I used to wish that my parents would care more, that Callum would love me forever, and that Rhys and Genevieve would stop hating me. A faint, muffled sob echoed in the dark apartment. Now, I just wanted to leave them all behind. The candles were out. My twenty-eight years of foolish life were over. 3. Rhys was found and brought home, but he had significant memory loss. I didn’t go to the hospital with them. I knew the truth of what happened at Rhys and Genevieve’s engagement party years ago. Someone had spiked Rhys’s drink, and I had been trapped with him in a secluded room. His heavy breathing was hot on my neck. I was screaming, terrified, when finally someone found us. I stumbled out, clutching my torn dress, reeling from the terror. But when I looked up, everyone was staring at me with a look of vile judgment. My father’s hand swung across my face. The slap made my ears ring, and he was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with rage. “Shameful!” he roared. “How dare you destroy your sister’s engagement party like this?” Rhys, the drug’s effect now fading, and Genevieve looked at me with pure disgust. “Sister, your engagement to Rhys was an outdated arrangement by our parents,” Genevieve said, her voice dripping with scorn. “He doesn’t love you. Why are you grasping for something that isn’t yours?” Rhys added, his voice ice cold, “Did you stoop this low because I broke off the engagement? I always thought you were just dull and boring. I underestimated your sheer malice.” “Get out. I never want to see you again.” No matter how I explained, they refused to believe me. I became a transparent ghost in my own home. Slowly, I stopped speaking altogether. The only person who claimed to believe me was Callum. Though even he said, “Aubrey, of course I believe you.” “But apologize to Genevieve. It’s her important day, and you ruined it.” Later, he proposed, saying that marrying him would silence the gossips. Now, Genevieve was sobbing in his arms, venting her frustration over Rhys’s memory loss. Callum’s hand stroked her shoulder, an endless stream of tenderness in his touch. Genevieve, needing a reaction from Rhys, asked Callum to pretend to be her boyfriend and provoke him. The next thing I heard was that Rhys and Callum had gotten into a fistfight. They stood confronting each other like two lions defending their territory. Rhys, predictably, was being cruel. “I suddenly remembered, isn’t your wife my ex-fiancée? You just go around picking up my sloppy seconds, don’t you?” Callum grabbed Rhys’s collar, squeezing so hard Rhys could only gasp for air. “What are you so proud of?” Callum spat out, his face a mask of fury. “If I hadn’t been watching Aubrey’s every move and sent someone to find her, your little plot to drug him would have worked. You would have been completely out of the picture!” The last wire holding my sanity snapped. The only fragile strand of trust I had clung to—that Callum had married me out of true compassion—was just his self-serving lie: “I watched her, so she couldn’t do anything worse.” “I sacrificed my own happiness, and I’ve been putting up with Aubrey for you for years! That’s enough!” They tossed me between them like unwanted trash. Callum took Genevieve away for a vacation. Three days after they left, a whole design team and a contractor arrived at the house. “Mr. Thorne instructed us to complete the remodel before his return.” I saw his long list of requirements: the room layout, the flowers in the courtyard, the furniture brands. Everything was to be changed to fit Genevieve’s preferences. I packed my own belongings and watched as they took down my illustrations, turned my art studio into a music room, and tore out all the flowers in the garden to replant them. I remembered the day we moved in, when Callum had affectionately ruffled my hair. “I used to live here alone, but now it’s ours. We can design it exactly the way you like.” Back then, no matter what I suggested, Callum would smile warmly and say, “Yes, whatever you like is fine.” He never interfered, never questioned. Now I knew. It wasn’t devotion; it was indifference. For the person he truly loved, he was diligent and devoted, fussing over the temperature of the room. 4. I received a text from Callum just before he and Genevieve were due to return. “Aubrey, I need to talk to you about something when I get back.” But that night, I didn’t even have time to grab a coat before I was dragged to the hospital. Genevieve and Callum had been in a car accident on their way home. They had hit a pedestrian. “You’re the same blood type as the injured person. You’ll stay here,” my mother ordered, her eyes wild. “If the blood bank runs low, they’ll use yours.” The cold night air hit my thin top, clinging to my back. It was a cold that pierced to the bone. I spoke with a terrifying new calmness. “I can’t donate.” Callum’s brow furrowed. “Aubrey, this person absolutely cannot die.” My mother’s fingernails dug into my arm. “What is the meaning of this? Are you trying to hurt your sister?” “How can I hurt her? You were so afraid of her being stressed that you already sent her home, didn’t you?” I looked at their accusing faces. “Why don’t you ever listen to me? Am I really that malicious?” My nose began to sting. “None of you even asked why I can’t donate.” No one answered. As I started to walk away, Callum seized my shoulders and pressed me back down onto the bench. My tears were clinging to my lashes. His grip was like iron; I couldn’t move an inch. The amount of blood they took wasn’t huge, but afterward, I was dizzy and nauseous. Callum started to move toward me to embrace me, but I bent over, dry heaving. I didn’t have the strength to push him away, so I simply stumbled to my feet. I walked slowly, carefully, suppressing the urge to vomit. My pale, almost ghostly reflection stared back at me in the glass door. I turned back to them. “I helped the person you love most. I don’t owe you anything now, do I?” The next day, the media ran the story about the traffic accident. They praised “renowned artist Genevieve Thorne” for taking full responsibility, noting that her family had also “volunteered to donate blood as a token of apology.” The injured party was stable. Callum, acting as spokesman, called for safety and established a corresponding charitable foundation. Public opinion soared. Everyone was calling Genevieve the “goddess of the music world,” praising her and her family’s kind hearts and social responsibility. I stared at the screen, a laugh bubbling up and turning into a ragged sob. They hadn’t needed my blood at all. They only needed me as a footnote—a detail to complete my sister’s beautiful narrative. Aubrey Lian, how pathetic are you? Callum was shocked when he got a call from an old high school acquaintance. He was silent for a moment before placing the name. “Callum, I tried calling Aubrey, but she didn’t pick up. How is she doing? Any severe reaction to the blood donation?” Callum was confused by the sudden concern. He replied politely, “Thank you for asking. She’s perfectly fine.” The voice on the other end let out a long sigh of relief. “That’s reckless. She came in alone for the prenatal check-up a while back.” “Then she came in alone for the termination. And right after that, she goes and donates blood? Luckily, everything turned out okay.” A roaring sound filled Callum’s ears. He hung up abruptly, forcing a careless chuckle. “Who was that scammer?” “They got the whole story wrong. They didn’t even know who was pregnant.” I need to tell Aubrey to block that number. He dialed the phone number that had flashed on his screen almost every day for months. “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” The line went dead again and again. Callum ignored Genevieve’s questioning stare and bolted out the door.