I managed to reach my car before I completely broke down.
My old Civic—bought used four years ago, with money that should have gone to the college I never finished—was parked far from my family's luxury cars. Even in this, I was the black sheep. Even in this, I didn't fit in.
I got in, locked the doors, and then let myself out.
Violent sobs shook my body. The kind of ugly, loud sobs that come from the depths of your being. The kind that makes you choke and gasp and can't breathe properly.
Six years. Six fucking years of my life.
Twenty years when I met Rafael. Young, naive, in love. He was four years older, ambitious, with big dreams of starting his own business consulting firm. He said I was his inspiration. That he loved me more than anything.
And I believed him. God, how I believed him. I dropped out of college to study Art History in my third year to work full-time. Two jobs—waitressing during the day, working at a call center at night. All so he could focus on the business. "It's temporary," he said. "As soon as the company takes off, you go back to school. We'll have everything we want."
A lie. All lies.
He didn't want a partner. He wanted a crutch. Someone to support him while he built his empire. And when he finally got there? When Rafael Almeida Consultoria finally started making a profit?
He didn't need me anymore.
Worse. He traded me for the improved version. For the fairytale princess I would never be.
Sofia.
My half-sister. Monica's daughter with her first husband, who died in a car accident when Sofia was thirteen. Two years later, my mother died of cancer. Six months after that, my father married Monica.
And my life became hell. Sofia was beautiful—natural blonde, light brown eyes, model body. Spoiled, sheltered, always getting what she wanted with a smile and crocodile tears. And she hated me. Not openly, of course. Monica had taught her well. It was a subtle hatred, disguised as a sister's concern.
"Elena, are you sure Rafael loves you? He seems so distant..."
"Elena, you should take better care of yourself. Men like women who make an effort..."
"Elena, don't you think you've sacrificed too much? What if he doesn't appreciate it?"
Each comment was a stab disguised as care. And I, idiot that I was, thought she was trying to get closer.
She was testing defenses.
And when she found the weakness? She attacked.
My phone rang. Rafael.
I ignored it.
It rang again. And again. And again.
Finally, I answered, just to make it stop.
"What?" My voice was hoarse from crying. "Elena, thank God." He sounded desperate. "Where are you? I'm looking for you, you left so quickly..."
"It's none of your business where I am."
"Baby, please, let me explain properly..."
"DON'T call me that." My voice trembled. "You lost that right when you decided to marry my sister."
"It's just a ceremony!" he insisted, and I could hear him pacing, his footsteps quick against the pavement. "Elena, listen, Sofia has six months. Six months to live. The doctors were clear. Stage four pancreatic cancer. It's irreversible."
Cancer. Sofia had cancer.
A tiny part of me felt something like pity. But it was very small, buried under layers of betrayal and anger.
"And that justifies you canceling our wedding a day early?"
"She begged me, Elena." His voice broke. "She was crying, saying she never had the chance to be loved, to have that wedding experience. And I... fuck, how do I say no to a dying person?" "Saying, 'Sorry, but I'm committed to someone else,'" I replied coldly. "It's not that hard."
"But it is!" he exploded. "Elena, she's your sister! How can you be so cruel?"
"CRUEL?" I laughed, but it was a hysterical sound. "I'm cruel? Rafael, you're literally trading me for her, and I'm cruel?"
"I'm not trading you! It's just… it's just to give her this moment!" He breathed heavily. "Think of it as… as an act of charity. Like granting a wish to a sick child."
"She's not a child. She's twenty-four. And you're not a genie in a bottle."
"Elena…"
"And even if it were that, even if it were 'just charity'…" My voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "Don't you see what you're asking of me? You're asking me to watch you make vows to another woman. To watch you promise to love her, in sickness and in health, until death do you part." — I choked. — Which ironically won't take long, right?
"Fuck, Elena, that was in bad taste!"
"You're in bad taste!" I yelled. "Bad taste is using me for six years and then discarding me when something better comes along! Bad taste is making me believe I meant something when clearly I was just... just convenient!"
Silence on the other end. A long, heavy silence, full of truths neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
"It wasn't like that." But his voice was weak. He knew. Some part of him knew I was right.
"It wasn't?" I wiped away tears furiously. "Rafael, tell me something. Honestly. If Sofia weren't dying, if she were healthy, and asked you out... would you say yes?"
More silence. And that silence was my answer.
"You would say yes." It wasn't a question. It was a conclusion. "You always wanted her, didn't you? You always wanted the rich, pretty, perfect girl. I was just... what you got while you waited for better."
"It's not like that..."
"STOP LYING!" I slammed the steering wheel, the horn blaring. "Stop lying to me, stop lying to yourself! You want her! You always have! And now you have the perfect excuse to have her, and still look noble in the process!"
"I love you!" he shouted back. "Elena, I love you! Why can't you understand that?"
"Because love doesn't do that!" My voice broke completely. "Love doesn't cancel weddings the day before! Love doesn't choose someone else, even if it's 'temporary'! Love doesn't... doesn't make me feel like this. Like I'm worthless."
I could hear him crying now. Muffled sobs, ragged breathing.
"You're worth everything," he whispered. "Elena, you are... you are the best thing that ever happened to me. But I can't... I can't turn my back on someone dying. I can't live with this guilt."
"But can you live with the guilt of destroying me?"
"I'll be back," he insisted. "As soon as... as soon as it's over." I'll come back, and we'll get married, and...
"No." My voice was calm now. Empty. Every tear drained. "There won't be a later, Rafael. Because I won't be waiting."
"Elena, don't do this. Please..."
"Goodbye, Rafael."
"ELENA, NO..."
I hung up. I blocked the number. And I sat there in the silence of my car, staring at the steering wheel, trying to figure out what to do now.
Where was I going? To the apartment I shared with Rafael? No. I couldn't go back there. To the family mansion? Clearly, I wasn't welcome. Friends? What friends? Rafael had made me distance myself from everyone over the years. "They don't understand our connection," he'd say. "We don't need anyone but each other."
Isolation. A classic control tactic. And I had fallen completely.
I was completely alone. No money (everything I earned went to bills), no home, no family, no friends.
No nothing. My phone rang again. Unknown number.
Against my better judgment, I answered.
"Hello?"
"Elena?" The voice was feminine, hesitant. "It's me. Sofia."
My blood ran cold.
"You have guts..."
"Please don't hang up!" she said quickly. "I just... I need to explain. I need you to understand."
"Understand what? That you're a manipulative, groom-stealing bitch?"
"I'm DYING!" she screamed, and for a moment, I heard real fear in her voice. Not performative. Real. "Elena, I'm twenty-four and I'm dying! The doctors gave me six months! Maybe less!"
"And that gives you the right to destroy my life?"
"No! But..." Her voice broke. "But I just wanted... just once... to experience what it's like to be loved. To have a wedding. To wear a white dress. To make vows. To have that moment every girl dreams of. Just once before..."
"Before I die. I know." Rafael told me." I breathed heavily. "Sofia, I'm so sorry you're sick. I really am. But that doesn't justify it. You have the whole world. Millions of men. Why Rafael? Why MY Rafael?
Silence. And then, so low I almost didn't hear:
"Because you have him."
The words hit me like a slap.
"What?"
"You have him." His voice was strange now. Not sad. Something darker. "You always have him. Even when you don't deserve him. Even when you shouldn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"Mommy loves you more!" he exploded. "No, wait, not Mommy. Daddy! Daddy loves you more! No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, you're always his daughter! His real daughter! I'm just… a substitute!"
"Are you crazy? Dad treats me like dirt! He always has, especially after Mom died!"
"Because you remind him of her!" Sofia screamed. "You're just like her! You have her eyes, her smile, everything about her! And he can't stand it because it hurts so much! But me? I don't remind him of anyone! I'm just... his wife's daughter! The one who came in the package!"
I couldn't process what I was hearing.
"Sofia..."
"And you have Rafael too." Her voice returned to that strange tone. "This beautiful, intelligent, successful man. And you don't even appreciate him! You're always complaining that he works too much, that he doesn't pay attention, that you do everything for him. But I would appreciate him! I would adore him! I..."
"You're in love with him," I realized with horror. "It's not about dying. You're in love with my fiancé."
Silence. Guilty, heavy silence.
"How long?" My voice was dead. "How long have you been in love with Rafael?"
"Since I met him." "At the Christmas party three years ago. You brought him, and he was so... so perfect. And I thought, 'Why does she have him? What did she do to deserve it?' And then I found out I was sick, and I thought... I thought I could have at least this. Once. Before I died."
Three years. She'd been in love with Rafael for three years. Planning this for three years.
"Is the illness real?" I asked abruptly. "Or is it a lie, too?"
"It's real!" She sounded offended. "Elena, I have the medical papers, the tests, everything! I'm not lying about that!"
"But you're lying about everything else." My voice was becoming hysterical again. "'I just want the experience,' you said. But what you really want is him. You want to steal my fiancé, and you have the perfect excuse!"
"It's not stealing if he's going willingly!" she snapped, and there was venom in her voice now. "Rafael agreed, Elena. He CHOSE to do this. For me." Not for you."
The words were like knives.
"You're disgusting."
"And you're selfish!" Sofia screamed. "I have SIX MONTHS! Six months to live, and you can't even give me that? Can't you be generous for once?"
"Generous would be lending a dress. Lending shoes. Not lending my FIANCÉ!"
"He's not your property!"
"And he's not yours either!"
We were screaming now, two women completely out of control.
"I love him!" Sofia cried. "I love him and I'm going to die, and you can't... you can't let me have even that?"
"Love someone else! Anyone! Just not HIM!"
"You can't choose who you love, Elena! You should know!"
"Then suffer!" I screamed. "Love him from afar, suffer in silence, like NORMAL PEOPLE DO! Don't destroy other people's lives because you're unhappy!"
"You have everything!" She was sobbing now. "You have a family, you have health, you have a future! I have NOTHING! I only want this! That's all!"
"And me? What do I have left?" My voice broke. "You're taking everything from me, Sofia! My fiancé, my marriage, my dreams! What do I have left after you take everything?"
"You have your life." His voice went cold. Dead. "That's more than I have."
And he hung up.
I stood there, phone in hand, my mind blank.
Sofia was dying. She was genuinely ill, with months to live. And was I... was I being selfish?
No. No, I refused to accept it. Illness didn't give her the right to destroy my life. It didn't give her the right to Rafael.
But a little voice in my head whispered, "She's going to die. Six months and she's going to die. Can't you be generous for six months?"
No. I couldn't. Because it wasn't about six months. It was about the beginning. It was about Rafael choosing her. It was about my family choosing her. It was about ME never being chosen.
I was always the second option. The one who gets the leftovers. The one who accepts crumbs and is grateful.
Not anymore.
I started the car, not knowing exactly where to go but knowing I couldn't stay here. I couldn't go back to that church, that family, that life.
As I drove through the streets of Valmont, lit by streetlights that turned everything a sickly orange, my phone rang again.
My father.
I answered on speakerphone.
"Hello?"
"Elena. Where are you?" His voice was cold, authoritative. The voice he used in boardrooms. Never with me. Until now.
"Driving."
"You need to go back. Now. We need to talk about... about the situation."
"What situation? You mean how my fiancé is marrying your favorite daughter tomorrow?"
"Don't be dramatic." He sighed, as if I were the one inconvenient here. "Sofia is sick. Deathly ill. Surely you understand the gravity..."
"I understand everyone chose her. Again." My voice was surprisingly steady. "As always."
"Elena, this isn't about choices. It's about compassion. About doing right by someone who's dying."
"And what's right for me? Who cares?"
"You're being selfish," he declared, cold as ice. "Sofia is six months old. You have a lifetime. Can't you be generous for six months?"
There it was again. That word. Generous.
As if love were something to lend.
"No," I replied simply. "I can't."
"Then you're more selfish than I thought." Contempt. Pure contempt in his voice. "Your mother would be ashamed."
The mention of my mother hit me like a punch.
"Don't mention Mom. You have no right..."
"Isabella was generous. She was kind." I would have understood." He continued, relentless. "But you? You're bitter. Spiteful. Incapable of basic sacrifice for your sick sister."
"Half-sister," I corrected automatically.
"Irrelevant," he dismissed. "Elena, I'll give you some advice. Swallow your pride. Accept the situation. Be graceful. Because if you do... when Sofia is gone, Rafael will come back to you. And you can finally get married. Have the life you wanted."
"With leftovers," I whispered. "You're asking me to accept leftovers."
"I'm asking you to be an adult."
Tears burned my eyes again.
"You don't love me, do you?" The question was out before I could stop it. "You never loved me."
Silence. A silence that lasted for eternities.
"This has nothing to do with love," he finally answered. "It's about doing the right thing."
"For who? For Sofia? For Monica?" For everyone but me?"
"For family."
"I'm your family! I'm your DAUGHTER!"
"And Sofia is my daughter too," he replied. "And she's dying. So yes, right now, she's a priority. If you can't understand that..."
"Then what?"
"Then maybe you're not the person I thought you were."
The words hung in the air, final, devastating.
"I see." My voice was strangely calm. "Then it's decided. Sofia wins. As always."
"Elena..."
"Thank you, Dad. For making it clear where I am on your priority list."
"You're being childish..."
"I'm being honest. For the first time in a long time." I stopped at a red light, staring at the blurry lights through my tears. "And here's another honesty: I'm not going to the wedding. I'm not watching. I'm not giving my blessing." I won't pretend everything's okay."
"If you don't show up..." Her voice grew dangerous. "If you don't show up and support your sister right now..."
"What? You're going to disown me?" He laughed bitterly. "You already did it emotionally years ago. You can do it officially too."
"Elena..."
"Goodbye, Dad."
I hung up. I blocked it.
And drove. No destination. No plan. I just drove.
The rain started to fall—because of course it did, because life is a cruel cliché. Fat drops hitting the windshield, making the whole world blur.
Like my life. Everything blurred, undefined, destroyed.
Six years with Rafael. Twenty-six years trying to win my father's approval. My whole life being the second option.
And now? Now I was completely alone.
No fiancé. No family. No home.
Without anything.
Sofia's words echoed in my mind: "You have your life. That's more than I have."
But in that moment, driving through the empty streets of Valmont in the pouring rain, my life felt as empty as the death Sofia faced.
Maybe even more so.
Because death was inevitable. Neutral. Final.
But this? To be abandoned, exchanged, discarded?
That was a choice. And it hurt infinitely more.
________________________________________