His Dead Wife's Twin

My sister looks amazing. She's smiling a lot, and I think it actually hurts but if there's one day she's allowed to overdo it, it's today. Her wedding day.

I'm standing right next to her, maid of honor, watching her say "I do" to the man I love. The man I've loved since I was twelve and he was fourteen.

I hope my smile looks genuine. I really do. Because I am happy for them. A lot. Like, bouncing-off-the-walls happy. And also... crushed. Totally wrecked, and maybe some of that is leaking through my eyes. God, I hope not. I promised myself I'd hold it together today. Didn't I already cry everything out?

I messed up. Kept my feelings buried too long. Too shy. Too tangled in my own low self-esteem. I never thought Noah Sparks would like me back. He's been my best friend for years, and not once-not once-did I catch anything more than casual admiration in his hazel eyes. No extra long stares. No hugs that lingered a second too long. Nothing to give me hope or let me imagine he might feel the same.

He's the warmest man I know, but somehow that warmth never reached me the way it did with my sister. My twin sister.

We're basically carbon copies, except for one thing. I cut my hair short. I had to. I needed to feel like someone else, someone separate. Like maybe I could finally get out from under her shadow.

Didn't help. I'm still known as Elena's sister. Not by my name. Never Esmeray. Not even Ray. Just Elena's little sister.

We look the same, yeah. But our personalities couldn't be more different. Elena talks, laughs, flirts, connects. Me? I pull back. I think too much, speak too little. I don't laugh like she does. Not so bright. Not so easy.

"What are you glaring about, Esmeray? It's your sister's wedding, for God's sake."

My mother's voice cuts in from behind me as I walk down the hallway, a few steps behind the crowd trailing the bride and groom out of the church for photos. I didn't mean to fall behind. My feet just kept dodging people, avoiding small talk, and somehow I ended up back here-alone in the middle of everyone.

"I'm not glaring," I say, but it doesn't reach her.

"Smile. Shoulders up. That makeup and that dress weren't cheap. Maybe you'll meet someone today too-wouldn't that be nice? Your turn next year, hmm?"

She nudges me with her shoulder, like we're sharing some joke. She doesn't even glance at my face.

No one knows what this feels like. No one knows what I'm holding back. How humiliated I felt last night.

Don't think about it. I suck in a breath, stiffen my spine, and march after her.

The pictures are a blur. I don't even remember posing. Just... standing there. Smiling like my life depends on it.

Elena loves pictures. She had me, Valentine, and Christine, her maids of honor, posing for what felt like hours until my heels feel like they've fused with my skin. Like someone sewed them in. Permanent.

I let out a long sigh as I peel the heels off. Thank God Valentine and Christine didn't come back with me. The hotel room is quiet, blissfully, blessedly empty. I can finally breathe.

I sink onto the bed, freshly made by housekeeping after we rushed out this morning. White sheets. Perfect corners.

So... it's really over.

The thing that's haunted me for months. The thing that made my chest tighten every time I saw a bridal ad, every time Elena dragged me to look at dresses, to taste cakes, to pick seating charts. That gnawing panic-gone.

I exhale again, slower this time. My lips start to tremble. Don't cry. I chant it in my head. Don't you dare cry.

Just one more hour. The reception. Then it's done. Forever. One more hour and I can bury this. Lock it up. Pretend none of it ever happened.

A knock snaps through the silence.

I freeze. Swallow the tight knot in my throat. My legs move before I'm ready, mechanical. I glance in the mirror. No tear streaks. No red eyes. Just that stiff smile I've been wearing all day.

"Ray?"

That voice.

I stop cold. My heart slams against my ribs. No. That can't be. That can't be Noah.

I try to hold it together as I step toward the door. I fail completely. My hands are cold, shaky, fumbling with the handle. I yank it open.

His name falls out before I can stop it. "Noah..."

The rest of my words die when I see it's not just Noah standing there.

Peter's with him. Blonde, ever-grinning, ever-joking Peter, and he's looking at me like I'm Christmas come early.

"W-what's going on?" I stammer, eyes bouncing between them. Peter, too bright, too eager. Noah staring at the floor like the carpet's got something important to say.

"Don't be anxious, baby girl," Peter says, his voice all charm and smooth glass. He nudges Noah, trying to get a reaction.

Noah lifts his face. He shaved for the wedding. The clean look is strange on him. Makes him look younger. His hazel eyes don't hold mine for long. His smile is twisted-awkward, unsure.

"Hey, Ray," he says. "You know my man Peter, right? He's been beating me up, wanted me to introduce you two."

I stare. There's a quiet kind of horror curling inside me, pressing tight beneath my ribs, but my face doesn't move. I keep the same dull, detached expression. I can't meet Noah's gaze.

I turn to Peter. "Nice to meet you. I'm Esmeray."

It doesn't matter that we've known each other for years. That's not what this is about.

I could pretend it isn't happening. Pretend Noah isn't standing there trying to set me up with his best man like last night meant nothing.

But I'd be wrong.

Peter cackles. There's no other word for it. His laugh is loud, unfiltered, the kind that fills a room whether invited or not. I've heard it a thousand times, but tonight, it makes my shoulders tighten.

"Great to meet you, babes," he grins. "I know this is a little awkward for you."

"Yeah?" I say, staring at him instead of Noah, because looking at Noah is dangerous. I might glare, or worse, I might crumble.

Peter doesn't miss a beat. "So, what do you say? Maid of honor, best man-wanna save a dance for me?"

"Sure." The word tumbles out fast, too fast, but if it gets them out of my doorway, out of my sight, then it's worth it. "I'll dance with you, Peter."

Peter is never subtle, his fist pumps the air in excitement. "Thanks. I promise my two left feet won't step on your adorable legs."

My smile is polite. "I'll try not to step on yours."

"Gold," he whispers, barely containing his excitement. "I'll see you on the dance floor then."

"Yeah." This time, my voice is thinner, my eyes finding their usual refuge, the floor.

"Come on," Peter says, dragging Noah with him. When I finally look up, his arm is slung over Noah's shoulders, whispering something.

I exhale, quiet and tired. Noah is so cold. Distant. What did I ever see in him? What made me hold on for so long? I turn to retreat, but then-

"Hey!"

Noah's voice cuts through the hall, urgent. And he's rushing back.

My heart, traitorous thing, kicks into overdrive, stupidly hoping. Hoping when it shouldn't. Hoping when it knows better. He belongs to Elena now. Like everything in my life.

"I'm sorry," he says, a little breathless, even though the hallway's not that long. "That was... so awkward. I don't want there to be any bad feelings between us and after last night..." He gestures vaguely-first at the door, then toward where Peter disappeared. "He's just been bothering me about you and... he really, really likes you. I was actually planning to introduce you two before everything. Before last night, so... I know this sucks, but I just hope you're not upset."

I shake my head. My hair doesn't move, it's pinned back in some elegant twist the stylist said looked great while Valentine and Christine gushed like I was headed to prom. I can't look at him. If I meet his eyes, I'll cry. Again. And I can't do that. Not now. Not in front of him.

"Are we..." he exhales hard, like the weight of everything is pressing on his chest. "Are we good?"

Good how? Good like best friends? Like almost-siblings now that he's married to my sister? Or good like the girl who spilled her heart on the floor last night and the guy who walked over it on his way to say 'I do'?

I gather every ounce of strength left in my hollow body and lift my head. I manage a smile. It's weak, fake, stitched together with whatever dignity I have left.

"It's a little awkward," I say, voice too calm. "But Peter's fun. I don't mind. It'll be fun."

Every word slices through me and twists. I don't let him see. I press my lips together, bracing against the sting behind my eyes. "Don't worry about it, Noah."

He looks at me and nods. "Yeah. Thanks. I think Peter would be good for you, Ray. You two have a lot in common."

Please stop talking and go away. My fists are clenched, breath coming a little too fast. I can't cry in front of him again. Once was already pathetic.

"Sorry..." he says, quieter now. "It's still weird. I promise I'll never bring this up again. It's done. Promise."

He lifts his hand in a half-hearted scout's honor and I can see it's eating at him. If I don't smile, if I don't act like I'm fine he'll carry that guilt like a shadow. And if he slips, if he tells Elena...

That thought alone gives me the strength to fake it. I force a smile. "You're the one making it awkward, Noah. Just go back to your wife and let me be. I want to change."

"Right." He nods, like that settles it. "I'm gonna leave you to that. Hope you, uh... have a good time tonight, Ray."

He gives me one last glance and zips off after Peter.

The second he's gone, my shoulders collapse like the strings holding me up just got cut. I walk into the room, shut the door, and press my back against it. That strength I worked so hard to wear like armor? Gone. Gone in seconds.

I slide down to the floor, the sobs ripping through me without mercy, clawing up my throat, spilling hot and broken down my cheeks. I cover my mouth even though there's no one to hear me.

Chapter Two -

The night before the wedding is a terrible time to confess your feelings. I know I'll be rejected. I know it won't change a thing. We've known each other for nearly thirteen years-thirteen years of quiet glances and buried hope-and I've liked him for just as long without ever saying a word.

Then Elena comes home, practically glowing, tears clinging to her lashes and a flashy diamond ring sparkling on her finger. She's laughing and crying all at once as she tells me how Noah proposed. I just stand there, frozen. Numb. They've only been together a year. And now they're getting married.

I don't confess then.

The next day, Noah comes to me, buzzing with excitement, like he's just won the lottery. He goes on and on about the big move he made, how he planned everything perfectly.

I'm supposed to be his best friend. And he doesn't say a word.

"You would've told her," he says when I ask. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

Yeah. It is. For both of us.

Still, I don't say anything.

We go dress shopping. Pick out centerpieces and debate venues. Every detail of the wedding that has Elena crying from joy one minute and stressing the next-I'm there. Smiling. Nodding. Doing what any good sister would do.

I tell myself I'm okay. Over and over. Like a chant in my head.

Noah loves Elena. He wants to marry her. What more proof do I need that he never saw me that way?

That's it. End of story. The door to the only love I've ever really known slams shut.

And I tell myself to move on.

Then comes the night before the wedding. And I start unraveling.

Maya says I'm having an anxiety attack. She's probably right. My heart's racing, hands shaking, thoughts darting around like a swarm of bees in a bottle.

"You don't have to expect anything," she tells me, all calm and serious, like I'm not two seconds from tearing my hair out. "Just tell him. Say how you feel. Get it off your chest and that's it. You'll have closure."

I shoot her a look. "It's the night before Elena's wedding. Who does that?"

"Do you really think he'd call it off?"

"I don't know what I think!" I'm pacing the floor, chewing my nails down to stubs. "I just-God, I can't calm down. I feel like I'm losing it. He's getting married tomorrow, Maya. To Elena. What am I supposed to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, hot and stubborn. My voice cracks as I keep talking, the words tumbling out too fast.

"I'm gonna walk down the aisle as her maid of honor. I'm gonna hold her damn train, hand her tissues, fix her makeup and stand there, watch her marry Noah. I can't. I can't do it."

My chest locks up tight, like someone's taken a fistful of wire and wrapped it around my ribs. Every breath feels thinner than the last.

"That's why I said you should confess," Maya says gently. "You can't carry this into the ceremony. You'll fall apart. And you know Elena, if you back out now, she'll lose it. She might not even go through with the wedding if you're not there."

Maya, my best friend since high school, gets to her feet and crosses the room, pulling me into a firm embrace. Her warmth anchors me, steadies my spiraling thoughts.

"Ray, you can do this," she murmurs. "I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Just get it out of your chest, and you'll feel better."

Her words, at first absurd, start to sink in, winding their way into my restless mind until they feel like truth. That's how I find myself at Noah's house, standing outside in the rain, water dripping from the hood of my sweatshirt.

It's a new house, one he's bought recently. The first sign I should have seen, should have known he's thinking about marriage. Who buys a three-bedroom house at twenty-seven without a plan? The place is still hollow, unfinished. No couch, no bed frame, just a foam mattress resting on bare tiles.

And here I am, soaking wet and shivering, sneaking off to my sister's fiancé's house. He was my friend first, that's the thought I cling to, desperate to justify what I'm doing. As if that makes any of this okay.

I knock. The door swings open, and there he is. Noah, bleary-eyed, hoodie damp with sleep, face tired but filling with shock the moment he sees me.

"Ray!" He says my name like it hits him full force, like he's not sure I'm real.

I tremble, cold, breath unsteady. But I don't turn back.

"Hey, Noah." My voice wavers, like it can barely hold itself together.

"What are you doing? You're drenched," he says, eyes darting over me.

"It's fine."

"What's fine? Come in, let me grab you a towel."

"No, I just-"

"You'll get sick if you stand there like that."

"I know, but I'll be quick."

"Ray," he sighs, exasperated now. "Just come inside. Quickly."

But I can't. I can't step into that house with this burden still knotted inside me.

Instead, the words spill out, rip free, like something I have no control over.

"I'm in love with you!" My whole body starts to shake, but the secret's out. No taking it back now. "I have been in love with you for years."

Noah shifts, stepping out onto the porch, his silhouette outlined against the dim glow spilling from inside. His expression is hard to define, some mix of confusion and disbelief.

"Ray," he says, uncertain. "What are you saying to me right now?"

I laugh, the sound brittle and strange, like it belongs to someone else. Maybe I'm losing it. Maybe this is pure madness, showing up like this, saying these words on the eve of his wedding.

"I know you love Elena," I say, the words barely holding together. "Who doesn't? And I know she loves you. I swear I'm not trying to come between that."

His jaw tightens, hands pushing into his pockets as he exhales sharply. "Ray, you can't-" He hesitates, like he's searching for the right words, then sighs. "You can't drop this on me now. I'm getting married tomorrow."

"I know." My throat burns as I swallow, forcing the next words out before they slip away. "This isn't meant to stop anything. I just needed to say it. You needed to know." I breathe in deep, still shaking, but there's no turning back. "I... I love you. I have loved you very much."

His lips part, but no words come. The quiet between us stretches, thick with the weight of what I've just unleashed.

"Ray..." His voice is barely above a whisper.

I wipe at my face, forcing something close to a smile. "Tell me," I murmur. "I know I'm too late. I didn't say it soon enough. But... what if I had? What if I hadn't hidden it for so long? What would your answer be?"

His gaze locks onto mine, something heavy and sorrowful settling in his eyes. "I don't know," he says finally.

I nod, my breath hitching, my face crumbling into a sob. "Yeah, you can say it, Noah. I already know, but you have to say it."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he wants to resist, like he wants to spare me, but there's no sparing me now. "Ray, this isn't-"

"Just this once," I whisper, lips trembling. "I won't ask you to say it again." I pull in a shaky breath, bracing for the blow.

He studies me for a long moment, and I see it, the split second where he makes up his mind.

"I love Elena," he says, quiet but firm. "I have loved her all my life. She is the one."

I'm not prepared. God, I think I am, convince myself I've braced for impact, but the pain is instant, staggering. It hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me. I nod, try to swallow it down, try to breathe through it, but the tears come fast, violent. I break apart, right there in front of him.

He never loved me. Never thought of me as anything more. I've been the closest person to him for years, but I'm still the farthest from his heart.

"No, no, Ray, please don't cry." His hands twitch like he wants to reach for me, like he wants to pull me into a hug. But he hesitates. Something has shifted. We're not just best friends anymore. And he knows it.

I can't stop. I sob, head bowed, shoulders shaking, the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep and raw. I cry like a child who's lost their mother, who'll never know warmth again, who suddenly has no home.

I cry so hard I'm shocked I haven't collapsed, haven't just passed out right there on the porch. If I had died, I think maybe it wouldn't hurt as much. That's how bad it is. How deep the wound cuts.

Somehow, I walk away-on my own two feet, shaking, drenched, broken. I beg Noah not to tell Elena. Then I just keep walking. For hours. Maybe all night.

By morning, I'm a ghost. My eyes are swollen, my throat raw, my body heavy with grief, but I'm up. I smile. I hold her bouquet. I zip her into her wedding dress.

And it's like it never happened.

Elena changes her dress with my help, both of us bent over sequins and safety pins and giggles that come a little too easy. She looks stunning, glittering velvet wrapped around her, making her shine bright like stars

She smiles when she is ushered in, takes her seat beside Noah where she belongs.

The MC gushes about how beautiful the night is, introduces our parents as if no one in the room has ever met them. My mom and Noah's mom smile at each other like they haven't spent the past year trading polite venom and passive-aggressive digs over table linen. I watch it all with my hands folded neatly in my lap.

Peter gives his speech. It's charming, funny, just tipsy enough to get away with it. The room laughs. Cheers. The cake is cut. My face hurts from holding a smile. I keep counting minutes. Counting until it is over.

Then comes the dancing.

I dance with Peter. He moves with an infectious energy, the kind that demands attention in a dimly lit room. He laughs often, holds my waist like he's done it a million times, and I shift slightly, concealing my discomfort. I don't hate Peter. He's kind. He's fun. But I know this won't work, and I won't let him hold onto something that isn't there. I'll let him down easy.

Later, I dance with Elena. She grabs my hand and we spin like we are five again, like nothing has changed. Across the room, Noah dances with our mom, making her beam and even giggle. She thinks Noah is the perfect son-in-law. She's probably right. I've never seen her look at Dad that way.

"You okay?" Elena asks, breathless, eyes shining.

"I'm perfectly fine," I say. "I can't believe you're married."

We squeeze hands, squeal like teenagers. I smile like it is carved into me. "Now you're Mrs. Spark."

"I'm keeping my name," she grins. "It's Mrs. Elena Morales Spark."

She squeals again, and God, her joy is infectious. For a second, I feel lighter. Maybe this isn't my happy ending. But everyone else is happy. That has to be enough.

Right?

My eyes betray me. They find Noah laughing now, twirling his mother like she is the bride.

"You're so lucky, Elena," I say.

She turns, radiant, mischief dancing in her smile. "He's the lucky one."

We both laugh. For her, it is the best day of her life. The one she'll remember forever.

For me? It is just the end of a long, aching day. And I'm glad it is finally over.

I wave with the rest as the bride and groom pull away, glittering in the headlights, everyone shouting blessings into the night. Happy marriage. Beautiful couple. Perfect day.

I whisper the words like a spell, then let them die on my lips.

Peter catches me just before I reach the car. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says.

I smile. Nod. He's offered to drive me, but I tell him I'm going with my parents. He doesn't push. He's sweet. Charming.

But my heart doesn't pull toward him.

Just like Noah's never pulls toward me.

I guess we don't get to choose who we love.

As I slide into the backseat, Mom doesn't wait. "Why didn't you go with Peter? I can tell he likes you. Don't you like him?" A beat. She doesn't wait for the answer. "I mean, what's not to like? He's a great guy. You should give him a chance. Look at Elena, married after a year. Don't waste time being picky."

I press my forehead to the window. Cold glass. Dark streets flying past. I close my eyes. And tune her out. It's what I always do. Survival skill. If I didn't know how to leave the room while sitting in it, I would've lost my mind years ago.

"Are you alright back there, sweetheart?" Dad's voice drifts through the car, his eyes catching mine in the rearview mirror.

"I'm fine," I say, too quick, too flat.

Mom finds her next target. "Did you drink?"

I exhale through my nose. I have never touched alcohol in my life, but ever since high school, ever since she found that pack of beer Elena's boyfriend smuggled in, I've been branded guilty. Elena begged me not to tell the truth, and now, according to Mom, six cans of beer mean nothing to me.

"You are not an alcoholic, Esmeray."

"I didn't drink, Mom. I'm just tired."

Dad steps in, his voice neutral. "It was a stressful day."

"It was stressful for all of us," Mom counters, brushing past his words like they don't matter. "You should drink more, maybe you wouldn't be so uptight."

A groan escapes me before I can swallow it, frustration curling inside like a growing flame. I run my fingers through my hair, only to meet resistance, pins, stiff and unforgiving. A fresh wave of irritation rolls through me. "Can you drop me here, Dad? I need to pick something up." I just want to walk. To breathe.

"What are you picking up?" Mom huffs, skeptical. "It's late already. Don't stop, honey, let's just go home. You shouldn't snack so much at night, Esmeray. You know it's not good for your health."

I fold. Like always. Stuff the frustration down, smooth out the edges, pretend it's not there. Letting it loose would be a mistake. No one would understand. No one ever does.

To my mother, I am a trial, a test she endures daily, one she survives only because of Elena's existence. It takes less than a minute before the conversation shifts back to her, before my presence fades into the background.

I close my eyes and pretend to sleep.It's the only way to disappear.

I don't sleep that night.

Elena's room, directly across from mine, is still open from this morning, when we rushed out in a whirlwind of bags and plans. Somehow, miraculously, we manage to take everything.

After getting home, after shutting my door against my mother's relentless words, I finally strip the pins from my hair, letting the short reddish-brown strands tumble free. Mechanically, I pull them back into a small, messy ponytail. Routine. Familiarity. I brush my teeth, catch sight of my eyes in the mirror. They are slightly red, irritated, tired in a way that goes beyond exhaustion. I blink, rinse my mouth, step into the shower.

Afterward, hunger nudges at me, but before slipping into the hallway, I check. My mother lurks sometimes, always prepared for another lecture.

That's when I notice Elena's door open, chaotic.

She's gone, of course. Sleeping next to Noah. No, celebrating their honeymoon night. With money tight after the wedding, they didn't plan to go anywhere, they're staying at Noah's place. Just two streets down. Together. Doing wedded couple things.

Don't think about it, Ray. Just don't.

I move to close her door, but then I see them. The pictures.

Elena loves traveling, loves capturing moments, memories, light frozen in film. And as I scan the collection covering her wall, I notice something. My face. Everywhere. More than I expect.

I never like traveling. Rooted should be my middle name. But somehow, she has me up there, woven into her adventures, into her happiest moments.

She always thinks of me. Always. She is my twin, and I should forget Noah. I should accept their life together. No, more than that.

I should be happy for them.

Standing there, surrounded by fragments of her world, I make the decision. Nothing will change between the three of us. Elena, Noah, me. My twin. My best friend.

From tonight onward, that is all Noah will ever be to me.

I shut her door with that conviction.

And I go to bed.

I do not sleep.