From the kitchen window, I watched Ben lead my sister into the backyard.
He knelt between the tomato plants.
Rosie’s hands flew to her mouth.
Then she nodded so hard that her curls bounced.
That night, I pressed my face into my pillow and cried as quietly as possible.
The thoughts that filled my mind made me ashamed.
Ben could not possibly find Rosie more beautiful than me.
He could not truly want this.
There had to be another reason.
Perhaps he pitied her.
Perhaps he felt trapped by a childhood promise.
Perhaps he could not have me and had chosen the person closest to me instead.
Those thoughts were cruel.
I knew they were cruel even while thinking them.
Yet years later, when Ben handed me that contract in the hospital, I would realize how close my suspicion had come to a terrible truth.
The next morning, I forced myself to smile.
Rosie sat beside me on the couch, building a wedding inspiration board and saving pictures of flowers, dresses, and cakes.
“You’ll be my maid of honor,” she said.
I swallowed the ache in my throat.
“Of course.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Part of me expected our parents to object.
Instead, they were strangely calm.
My mother smiled and said Ben would take good care of Rosie.
My father shook his hand and told him he was making a responsible decision.
At the time, I believed they were simply relieved that Rosie had found someone kind.
Now I know they were relieved for a far darker reason.
