Before our wedding, my fiancée, Sarah Hargrave—a professor of medieval history—held a private ceremony in a secluded chapel in the countryside.

But not with me.

Under the glow of candlelight, she cradled Benjamin Wheeler—her first love, his face gaunt from the cancer consuming him—in her arms. Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she murmured, "In the eyes of God, vows made before the altar are the only ones that matter. Even if the law says I belong to Daniel, my soul was never his."

And so, to the faint echo of hymns and the scent of old incense, they drank from the same silver cup, exchanged rings, and stepped together into the dimly lit sacristy—their makeshift bridal chamber.

I watched. Silent. Motionless. No outbursts, no demands for explanation. Just the quiet dialing of a clinic to undo the vasectomy I'd gotten for our future.

From fifteen to thirty, I had loved Sarah for fifteen long years. But in all that time, there'd never been room for me. That space had always belonged to Benjamin, my stepbrother.

So I let her go.

Afterward, I joined a geological research team bound for the isolation of Antarctica—a land cut off from the world, quiet and clean.

Before I left, I handed Sarah a divorce agreement…and a final gift to mark the end.

I never anticipated that Sarah, who'd always met my devotion with frosty detachment, who'd never once glanced back as I walked away, would look ten years older overnight.

I stood in the rain, motionless.

Through the downpour, I watched my fiancée—Sarah Hargrave—smile faintly, her eyes alight with something I no longer recognized.

Benjamin Wheeler leaned in, pressing his lips to hers—not a kiss, but to pass her a heart-shaped locket. She wore an emerald-green gown, the kind reserved for operas or old portraits, something out of a Victorian romance. The locket gleamed between them, catching the glow of the gas lamps.

Sarah’s cheeks flushed as she took it. But before she could open it, Benjamin pulled her into his arms, crushing her against him like he wanted to erase the space between them forever.

The guests—their friends, mostly—cheered, clinking glasses. The kiss that followed lasted nearly ten minutes. I counted.

By the time they parted, Sarah was breathless.

A gust of wind lifted the lace drapes hanging from the garden trellises. Only then, under the flickering lantern light, did I notice my own family and friends among the crowd. Watching. Smiling.

My younger sister, Amy Foster, stood at the center of it all—no longer the girl who once hid behind me but now poised as the officiant. She wore a sleek, modern dress, her gaze fixed on Benjamin with something like reverence.

She had forgotten.

Forgotten how the two of us, brother and sister, had nearly been broken in that "boarding school" Benjamin’s mother sent us to—the one that promised to "correct" troubled teens.

And yet there she was, beaming, raising her glass. "To my brother and his beautiful bride—may your love last a lifetime!"

As her toast ended, the guests lit sparklers, their golden trails cutting through the night.

Benjamin swept Sarah into his arms like she was weightless—the kind of dramatic gesture reserved for fairy tales, not real life.

Amy's excitement reached a fever pitch. "That’s it! Escort the newlyweds to the honeymoon suite!"

The noise around me dulled. A hollow silence filled my ears.

I took out my phone and called Amy.

This was the girl who once swore, through tears, that she’d always stand by me. She glanced at the screen, hesitated, then declined the call.

I didn’t stop. I dialed again—this time, Sarah.

The moment she saw my name, her expression iced over.

She looked ready to ignore it, but Benjamin murmured something, and she rolled her eyes before answering, her voice dripping with annoyance.

"Where are you?" I asked quietly.

Her laugh was sharp and cruel, carrying over the music. "Checking up on me again? We’re married, Daniel. Are you really this starved for love?"

Then, louder—deliberately so the others could hear, "God, you’re desperate. I told you, this trip with Ben is for the university. The newly discovered medieval manuscripts—remember? Or is your jealousy so crippling you can’t tell research from an affair?"

Her words hit like a slap, one after another.

And still, with one last frayed thread of hope, I whispered, "But Sarah… today is my birthday."

Sarah had once promised me—no matter what happened—we'd spend every birthday together. So even if she were across the world, I would still make my way to her.

I took over ten different modes of transportation, hiked five kilometers, and braved the forest to find her.

Until a local finally told me the truth.

There was no archaeological site here—only a professor named Sarah who had been planning a wedding with her lover for the past six months.

Sarah seemed to recall this, and a brief silence fell on the line.

Before she could respond, Amy snatched the phone.

"God, Daniel, must you always compete with Ben? Stop embarrassing yourself! If you delay Sarah's research, can you even comprehend the consequences?"

She hung up.

Benjamin, with his arm around Sarah, gently patted Amy's head, soothing her, "Come on, you know what Daniel is like. Today is the most important day of my life. Cheer up."

Just like that, Amy's anger dissipated, and the group disappeared toward the honeymoon suite, leaving me alone in the silent night.

On my phone, I booked a vasectomy reversal, then turned and walked away.

Fifteen years of loving a woman who saw me as air—I was done.

By the time I returned to the city, it was late. I booked a random hotel, showered, and fell into a restless sleep.

In the early hours, a shrill phone ring jolted me awake.

The TV station manager's voice was urgent and excited, "Daniel, I heard there was a 5.3 magnitude earthquake in that village yesterday. Get over there and get me some material!"

He hung up before I could respond.

I felt a bitter irony—if I'd known, I wouldn't have come.

Resigned, I got up and checked my phone.

Benjamin had posted a close-up of his hand clasping Sarah's, wedding bands glinting. My chest tightened at the scar on her knuckle—the one she got shielding me from my father's broken whiskey bottle at eighteen.

I had always believed it was proof she cared for me.

Turns out, it was all in my head.

I was such a fool.

I opened my laptop, quickly compiled the interview materials, and asked my lawyer friend to draft a divorce agreement.

When I returned to the village, I found it in ruins.

Setting aside personal feelings, I contacted rescue teams for the affected villagers.

For some reason, the earthquake's aftermath was particularly severe.

Noticing the blasting caps used to carve the mountain near the newly built village, a troubling thought crossed my mind.

Suddenly, someone kicked me hard from behind.

Caught off guard, I fell onto the gravel-strewn ground, my hands and face scraped raw.

"Jesus, Daniel," Amy spat, looming over me. "Are you actually stalking us now? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She had forgotten how our mother was driven to death by Benjamin's mother.

Now my sister was just another member of Benjamin's fan club.

I no longer wanted a sister like her.

I stood slowly, wiping blood from my scraped hands. I didn't speak, nor did I look at her. I just adjusted my camera and kept working.

Not far away, Sarah approached with a pale-faced Benjamin.

A flicker of guilt crossed her face as she said, "Daniel, I forgot to wish you a happy birthday last night. Once I wrap up my excavation work here, I'll come back to celebrate with you..."

I slowly shifted my gaze away from their intertwined fingers—Sarah's and Benjamin's—and shook my head calmly.

"No need."

My composure startled all three of them.

Amy barked a harsh laugh. "What's this new act, Daniel? You spent years begging Sarah to marry you, and now you're playing hard to get?" She smirked, tossing her hair. "Let's be clear - even with that marriage license, you're not fit to polish Sarah's boots."

Amy said this with a smirk, clearly expecting it to cut. But I didn't react. My face remained a blank slate, cold and distant.

That only made Sarah angrier. She frowned, her delicate features tightening as she raised her voice at me.

"Daniel, it was bad enough that you followed me here, disrupted my work, and now you're sulking like a child? My patience has its limits. Benjamin needs peace and quiet to recover. Your presence is stressing him. I want you gone. Now."

As she said this, she grabbed my wrist, trying to drag me away by force.

But in the next second, the earth trembled.

The aftershock hit without warning. Both women lunged toward Benjamin, who stood exposed in the clearing. Sarah shoved past me, using my body for leverage—whether intentionally or not.

She must have seen it then: the cracked utility pole teetering behind me. It fell with crushing force, pinning my left leg beneath it.

White-hot pain swallowed my consciousness whole.

…

When I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed. My left leg was in a cast.

There was no one at my bedside.

A doctor came in to check the IV and remove the needle. He seemed genuinely relieved to see me awake.

"You're lucky," he said, brow furrowed. "Another inch and your leg would've been beyond saving. You need complete rest. No stress, no nonsense."

I stared up at the ceiling. "Thank you. Could you help me schedule a vasectomy reversal?"

Later, a nurse wheeled me out of the room. That was when I learned it was the village chief who had brought me to the hospital.

As for Sarah—she had only sent me a single text message: [Benjamin fainted when he saw your injured leg. I've taken him back to Lavnoc City for treatment."

She and Amy had immediately applied for emergency helicopter transport and left that same night with Benjamin.

As for my injury?

They didn't care in the slightest.

The realization settled like shrapnel in my chest - not sharp, but heavy, making each breath an effort.

My vasectomy reversal procedure was scheduled for three hours later.

I spent my remaining time finalizing divorce papers with my lawyer. As I closed my laptop, the family group chat exploded with notifications.

Dad, Amy, and Sarah had all sent Benjamin birthday tributes.

Staring out the window, I watched a bird dart clumsily across the sky. My lips curled into something that might've been a smile. Or maybe it was just irony.

So they all remembered Benjamin's birthday.

My father transferred him five thousand dollars with a message: [Happy birthday, Benjamin!]

Amy transferred him ten thousand dollars with a message: [To the best brother in the world!]

Sarah posted a screenshot of a bank transfer of fifty thousand dollars. Her message read: [No matter what the future holds, my heart belongs only to you, Benjamin.]

I exited the chat without a word.

Not a minute later, Sarah called.

Her voice was sharp, tinged with mockery. "Daniel, what tantrum are you throwing this time? You just can't stand that we care about Benjamin, can you? In high school, you accused him and his mother of being responsible for your mom's death. Your father told me the truth—your mom was depressed.

"And that 'troubled teen facility' story? I did my own research. That establishment never existed. Amy told me you lured her to an abandoned building and caused her to hit her head and lose her memory. Benjamin was the one who spent an entire month nursing her back to health!"

Sarah's words came rushing out, a torrent of pent-up resentment finally breaking through.

"Let's be honest," she spat, "I never wanted this marriage. The only reason I went through with signing those papers was because Benjamin pitied you—he was worried you might hurt yourself. If not for him, I would never have stepped foot in that hotel room or touched that spiked drink—"

I let her speak, offering no interruption.

The hospital intercom suddenly blared: "Patient zero-three-seven, Daniel Foster. Report to surgical prep for vasectomy reversal."

Sarah's tirade cut off abruptly. I heard her sharp intake of breath.

"You're actually doing this?" Her voice held something unfamiliar—perhaps shock, perhaps the barest hint of humanity.

Before I could respond, Benjamin's mocking tone came through the line: "Sarah, darling, don't be naive. Daniel was sterile to begin with. This is just another one of his pathetic attention grabs."

Sarah's tone chilled instantly.

"Of course. Why did I expect anything different from you? It's unbelievable that you and Amy share blood. You're utterly shameless. You went to such disgusting lengths just to marry me, and now you're trying to undo it all? Well, guess what? I'm done with your games. One more stunt like this, and I'll be the one filing for divorce."

The silence that followed was heavy with her expectation—she was waiting, hoping even, for me to break, to plead with her.

Instead, I let the quiet stretch. Then came a slow exhale, the release of something that had weighed on me for far too long.

"Fine," I said. "Let's meet at the courthouse the day after tomorrow."

And with that, I ended the call, turned around, and walked into the operating room.