Confessions While the Stars Are Still Out

Three days before the wedding, my sister Mary’s laptop broke.

Desperate to finish editing a slideshow of childhood photos for my wedding, she borrowed my computer. That night, after she’d left, I went to close her QQ chat window when a message popped up.

It was from someone named “Adam”:

“Mary, still awake? You looked so beautiful trying on the wedding dress today. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

My fiancé’s name is Adam.

Rationally, I knew a man engaged to one sister wouldn’t send ambiguous messages to the other late at night. Yet my hands trembled as I opened their chat history.

Empty. Wiped clean, obviously, after every conversation.

Compelled, I didn’t close Mary’s QQ. Instead, I clicked into her space.

There was a group labeled “Visible to One Person Only.”

Shaking, I clicked in. That one person was Adam’s alternate account.

The latest post was from three hours ago—a photo of Mary in her bridesmaid dress.

The caption read: “They say I look better in this than the bride. Adam, what do you think? I really wish, one day, I could wear a real wedding dress for you.”

Below, Adam’s only comment: “In my heart, you look more beautiful than her in anything. Just wait a little longer, Mary.”

Scrolling further back, post after post, dense and endless, spanning six whole years.

Adam and I had been together for exactly six years.

And they had been entangled for six years.

Through it all.

I was drowning, forcing myself to read on, each word a fresh dose of poison.

The first post was from six years ago, in autumn, just one month after Adam and I had officially become a couple.

“Today, my sister brought her boyfriend home. That guy named Adam—when he smiles, his eyes sparkle like stars. What do I do… I think I’m falling for him too.”

The second post, after I brought Adam to a family gathering.

“He peeled a shrimp for me. My sister saw and joked that he was playing favorites. He laughed and said, ‘Mary’s the little sister, it’s only right.’ But I caught the flicker of tenderness in his eyes. That wasn’t a look for a sister. I know… I’m different to him too.”

A wave of nausea hit me.

I remembered that gathering. I’d even teased Adam for being so focused on peeling shrimp for Mary. He’d patted my head and said, “Babe, Mary’s your favorite little sister. If I’m not good to her, you’d be upset.”

Back then, I was utterly moved. I’d thought he loved everything connected to me—that he was a good man I could rely on.

Turns out, it wasn’t love for all that was mine. It was an impulse he couldn’t control.

Further down, the evidence showed their relationship progressing rapidly.

During our second year of university, I was swamped preparing materials for a graduate school recommendation. Adam said he’d come to the library with me, but he was never there. When I asked,