My husband asked me to “lend” my sister for his reunion—just one night, he said.

Each word landed like a small punch to the chest, but I didn’t react because I never reacted. I just absorbed it and kept functioning. That was my role in this marriage: provider, absorber, the other one.

“Besides,” Damen continued, “Nikki already said yes. She’s excited about it. She said it sounds fun.”

I blinked.
“You already asked her before asking me?”

He shrugged.
“I needed to make sure she was available first. Logistics.”

My sister had agreed to pretend to be my husband’s wife. My sister, who I’d been financially supporting for two years. My sister, who called me crying every month about how hard her life was. My sister, who I’d given everything to because that’s what big sisters did.