Dylan and I were twins, opposites in personality but inseparable in spirit. He was the golden boy—athletic, magnetic, adored. I was quieter, more cerebral. But we had each other’s backs, always. Even after college took us to different states—him in Arizona, me in Portland—I never missed a birthday, holiday, or milestone. So when he got engaged, I was thrilled. I asked about the engagement party, and he said it was coming up in six to eight weeks.
I waited. Nothing came.
Each time I asked, my parents brushed it off—“still planning,” “just a small dinner.” Then came the gut punch: my aunt messaged me, confused why I hadn’t attended the party. She sent a photo. Dylan had rented out an entire restaurant. Eighty guests. Friends, cousins, everyone we grew up with. Everyone—except me.
I hadn’t been invited.
My family told others I “couldn’t make it.” But I hadn’t even known it was happening. When I confronted Dylan, he claimed it was a mix-up. My parents fumbled excuses. But the truth came from our sister, Emily.
Dylan had asked them not to invite me.
Why? Because he felt I’d “outshine” him. My success in tech, my stable relationship, my independence—he saw it all as a threat. He’d lived in my shadow, he said. And this was his moment.
I was speechless. The brother I’d supported, celebrated, and loved had excluded me out of insecurity. That revelation cracked something deep inside me. I didn’t go to the wedding. I needed space—from him, from all of them.
Now, I’m rebuilding. I’ve learned that even the closest bonds can fracture under jealousy. And sometimes, protecting your peace means walking away from the people you thought would never hurt you.
