Dylan, Graham’s younger brother, was always a source of conflict—disrespectful, arrogant, and continually pushing boundaries. But his actions on our wedding day were inexcusable. He embarrassed me in front of everyone, ruining my most lovely moment.
Graham had enough—it was the final blow. It felt like an imperfect fairy tale when Graham and I started dating. Unpredictable and full of surprises and emotions.
Our first date made me cry. Not his fault, but because I was late and everything went wrong. I ran into the restaurant, breathless and embarrassed.
I cried as I explained the standstill traffic, the coffee that spilled over my top, and the shoe that broke as I sprinted across the street. Graham sat silent and unsure what to say. We finished the meal, but he didn’t call afterward.
The week passed without anything. I thought my tumultuous entrance scared him away. Luck reunited us at a friend’s gathering.
I had the confidence to tell him I was naturally emotional, maybe too much. To my astonishment, he seemed unfazed. He admitted being the same.
After that party six years ago, we were inseparable. Graham cried with me during emotional animal movies. He was mine.
I knew I was his. We did not linger. We lived together after three months of dating.
We were comfortable, pleased, and unhurried for six years. The wedding was never scheduled. It was constantly delayed because Graham or I were going through something more important.
Graham proposed eight months ago. He planned the proposal so well that I didn’t see it coming, making it more romantic. Not that I needed the ring or ceremony to want him forever.
No relationship is flawless, and his family was our particular issue. More specifically, Dylan, his younger brother. Dylan was bad.
Condescending, dismissive, and annoyingly pompous. He pretended to be superior to everyone, especially Graham. Dylan always reminded Graham who the “older and wiser” brother was, even though they were only three years apart.
The first time we met was unforgettable. Graham brought me to his parents’ house, where Dylan—a mature adult—still lived. He wasn’t as impressive as he believed.
Things started well. Our interactions were courteous and friendly. But then I excused myself to use the restroom, and Dylan was waiting outside the door.
“You bored yet?” he inquired, grinning boldly. I froze partially. “No, I’m alright,” I responded, maintaining my tone nice yet firm.
He chuckled. “Let’s leave. Have some fun.”
I retreated somewhat.
“Really, I’m okay,” I said, my stomach twisting. Tilting his head, he leaned in. A woman like you doesn’t deserve my brother.
“You’d have a much better time with me,” he said. His words were gentle, but his gaze were unsettlingly chilly. He put one arm around my waist before I could retreat.
He groped me with his hand. Let me go! I yelled, pushing him away and running back into the dining room, my pulse racing.
Graham’s face brightened up as I approached, but I smiled weakly and grabbed my stomach. Not feeling well. Can we leave?
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