This is going to be a long story, and it’s just as crazy as it sounds. I’m 32 years old, and until a few months ago, I was engaged to my girlfriend of five years. We’ll call her Sarah. My younger brother, Mike, is 29 and has always been the golden child in our family. To truly grasp the gravity of this betrayal, I need to give you some background.
Growing up, Mike could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes, whereas I was continually chastised for minor infractions. This wasn’t subtle favoritism; it was obvious and intense. Mike would break something, and I would be accused. He’d start a fight, and I’d get grounded. Our parents, Tom and Linda, were constantly making excuses: “Mike’s younger, he needs more attention,” or “You’re the older one, you should know better.” The relentless double standards and gaslighting made me feel useless in my own house.
The preference became more evident as we grew older. When I was accepted into a good college on a partial scholarship, my parents scarcely recognized it. However, when Mike opted to attend community college, they threw him a lavish celebration and bought him a car. Never mind that I had been biking five miles each way to my part-time job for years.
I moved out as quickly as possible, supporting myself through college by working two jobs and taking out loans. Meanwhile, Mike dropped out after one semester. Our parents wholeheartedly backed his decision, commending him for “knowing himself.” They even financed his string of failed business ventures over the following few years, depleting their retirement money.
Despite everything, I tried to keep a friendship with Mike. He was still my brother. However, it was always one-sided. I’d reach out, but he’d either ignore me or find a way to turn the conversation into a competition.
I met Sarah while trying to reunite with Mike. She was a friend of one of his short-lived girlfriends, and we clicked immediately. Sarah was brilliant, humorous, kind, and stunningly beautiful. For the first time in my life, I felt truly satisfied and valued. My folks, obviously, were not pleased. They made sarcastic remarks about Sarah being “out of my league.” Mike, on the other hand, became quite interested in my life, always asking about Sarah. At the time, I was just relieved that he seemed to care. Looking back, I should have noticed the red flags.
Sarah and I moved in together after a year, and it was fantastic. I proposed to Sarah on our fourth anniversary. It was nothing fancy, just a simple supper at home. I was ecstatic when she said yes. We planned to have a long engagement, spending our time arranging the wedding. We had our entire lives ahead of us, or so I believed.
When we told my family, their emotions were diverse. My mother put on a fake smile and remarked, “Oh, how nice,” in a tone that implied it was anything but. My father grunted, “Good luck with that.” Mike, however, had the weirdest reaction. He congratulated us, but there was something strange about his smile, almost predatory. I dismissed it at the time.
The following year was filled with wedding plans. Sarah and I were both working long hours to save up. Looking back, I should have seen the signs. Sarah grew distant, always on her phone, smiling at texts from “business friends.” She began going out more, arriving home late. But I trusted her. I never considered that she might be cheating, let alone with my own brother.
The Betrayal
Sarah began acting strangely around four months ago. She was moody, irritated, and always nauseous. I was excited by the possibility that she might be pregnant. Then one night, she sat me down with tears in her eyes and delivered the bomb: she was pregnant, but it was not mine.
I was stunned. When I asked who the father was, she broke down and mumbled, “It’s Mike.”
My entire universe came crashing down. Everything I had based my existence on came crumbling down. I could not breathe. I could not think. All I could feel was an overwhelming sense of betrayal.
Sarah tried to explain. Apparently, it began at our engagement party. Mike had approached her, telling her she was making a mistake by marrying me. He played on her insecurities, telling her she could do better. It wasn’t a one-time occurrence; they’d been having an affair for months.
I kicked Sarah out that night. I couldn’t bear to look at her. She begged me to forgive her, explaining that it was a mistake and that she loved me, but all I could think of was how many times she had lied to my face while being with my brother.
After Sarah left, I contacted Mike. I can’t recall what I said; it was all a swirl of wrath and pain. He initially tried to play it casual, claiming it was merely a drunken mistake. But when I questioned him, he became defensive, saying, “Well, maybe if you’d been a better fiancé, she wouldn’t have come to me.”
I saw red. I got into my car and headed to his apartment. I’m not sure what I was planning to do, but when I arrived, our parents were already there. Mike had apparently called them first, telling them a story about Sarah seducing him. And you know what? They believed him. They always do.
My mother immediately began lecturing me about forgiveness and family, while my father simply stood there, looking disappointed in me, but not in his beloved Mike. I tried to explain what had actually happened, but they wouldn’t listen. They kept telling me that I needed to forgive Mike and support Sarah throughout her pregnancy because “family comes first.”
I lost it. Years of pent-up resentment spilled forth. I told them exactly how I felt about their twisted sense of devotion. I told Mike that he was no longer my brother, that he was dead to me. I told my parents they could have the son they’d always wanted because they didn’t have me anymore.
I stormed off, ignoring their cries and pleas.
The Aftermath
It has been three months now. I’ve relocated to a new apartment, changed my phone number, and begun treatment. But my family will not give up. They’ve begun showing up at my office, attempting to ambush me and push a reconciliation. My mother confronts me in the parking lot, wailing about how I’m ripping the family apart. My father leaves harsh voicemails telling me to “man up” and forgive Mike. They’ve even dispatched “flying monkeys” in the form of extended family members to guilt-trip me.
I received a message from Sarah yesterday. She is keeping the baby and intends to co-parent with Mike. And guess what? My parents are overjoyed to become grandparents, forgetting the circumstances. The letter was full of apologies and explanations, including how she and Mike discovered “real love” through this terrible scenario. She even had the nerve to suggest that she hoped we could all become friends eventually, for the sake of the child.
I am at my wits’ end. The idea of Sarah and Mike raising a kid together—a child who should have been mine—is like a continual stab in my gut. My parents have begun to discuss how I should be involved in the child’s life, how I will become an uncle. The concept makes me feel physically ill.
The Escalation
The last several weeks have been tough. I was working on obtaining a restraining order. My parents arrived at the court with their own fancy lawyer. They tried to portray me as the crazy one, claiming I was ripping the family apart over a “simple misunderstanding.” Fortunately, the judge didn’t buy it. She issued the restraining order against Mike and my parents, but only after my mother fell into tears and my father glared at me as if I had committed murder. As we were leaving, Mike scoffed and said, “This isn’t over. You can’t hide behind a piece of paper forever.”
The situation at work came to a head last week. I was in a meeting when my assistant alerted me that my mother was in the lobby, raising a disturbance. Apparently, she had brought a photo album and was attempting to show my co-workers baby pictures of Mike and me. I told her she had to go right away or I would call the police for trespassing and breaking the restraining order. Her expression was as if I had slapped her.
But it was the fight with Mike that really threw everything off track. Last Saturday, I was at the gym when I heard his voice. I swung around, and there was Mike, smirking at me as if he hadn’t just broken the restraining order. I ordered him to go, but he laughed and said he’d tell the cops how I had threatened him and Sarah.
That was when I lost it. I swiped at him, my fist landing on his jaw. We ended up on the floor, trading blows like kids again, except this time there were no parents to separate us. The gym staff separated us. Mike’s nose was bleeding, and I could feel my own eye swelling shut.
The aftermath was severe. The news spread like wildfire. My phone was flooded with texts. Sarah’s parents contacted me again, expressing their support for me and their displeasure with their daughter. It was a minor consolation.
The legal fallout has been a nightmare. My lawyer called me the day after the gym incident. Mike had filed assault accusations against me. We are now in the process of bringing our own charges against Mike for breaking the restraining order.
My manager called me into his office earlier this week. He said he valued me as an employee but believed it would be best if I took a leave of absence until things calmed down. He suggested we call it a “personal sabbatical,” paid, of course. I knew the choice had already been made, so I agreed.
With everything that has happened, I have realized that I cannot stay in this city any longer.
Final Update
It’s been a week since my previous post, and a lot has happened. I’m relocating. Yes, I took the risk and accepted a transfer to our Seattle office. The choice came after an especially difficult day last week. I had just returned from another meeting with my lawyer when I saw a note in my mailbox. It was from Sarah. Inside, there was an ultrasound image and a handwritten letter stating how pleased she and Mike were about their baby. She hoped I could find it in my heart to be pleased for them and that the baby would be delighted to have its uncle in its life.
I saw red. I grabbed my phone, unblocked Sarah, and dialed her number. I told her exactly how I felt about her, Mike, and their “beautiful little family.” I told her she was insane if she believed I’d ever want anything to do with that kid and that she, Mike, and the baby could all go to hell. It wasn’t my best moment, but I felt like I finally shouted everything I’d been holding back.
That’s when I realized I couldn’t stay in this city anymore. That same night, I called my supervisor and informed him that I wanted the transfer to Seattle. By the next morning, it was official.
My family was quick to learn about my move. My folks, unsurprisingly, were outraged. They turned up at my place again, breaking the restraining order. I simply called the police and had them removed. As they were led out, my mother yelled at me that I would regret it, that family was everything. I immediately closed the door and returned to packing.
Mike reacted differently. He wrote a lengthy message on social media about how some people can’t handle seeing others happy and how he and Sarah were “rising above the hate.” It stung to see how many people liked and commented in his favor, but I reminded myself that their opinion is meaningless.
My cousin Amy, bless her, offered to help me pack. She told me that my aunt—my mother’s sister—had a heated argument with my mother, accusing her of always favoring Mike and pushing me away. I can’t say I’m not relieved to hear that someone is finally calling them out.
My lawyer assures me that my move will have no effect on the legal case. We’re still pursuing charges against Mike for breaching the restraining order and defending against the assault accusations.
I believe this is my final update. Part of starting over is putting the past behind me. I need to focus on creating my new life rather than obsessing over the old one. Wish me luck. I’ve got a whole new life ahead of me in Seattle, and I intend to make the most of it.