Hey Sis, You Can Keep the Trash

Three months before my wedding, my fiancé Henry dropped a maternity photo shoot on social media—with my foster sister, Betty Foster.

The caption:

[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