The first time it happened, I thought I’d misheard. Daniel had stepped out of the room, his phone buzzing across the coffee table. I didn’t touch it—I never had to. We trusted each other, or so I believed. But before I could even glance at the screen, the buzzing stopped. A second later, I heard her voice through the receiver, light and teasing: “Sweetheart? He’s in the shower. Want me to take a message?”
Sweetheart. My sister Emily.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. The word ricocheted inside me like a bullet. She wasn’t talking to me. She wasn’t mocking me. She said it with a casual ease, like it belonged to her. By the time Daniel came back into the room, towel slung around his shoulders, his phone lay dark and silent again.
I wanted to ask him right then. To grab the phone, shove it into his chest, and scream. But fear anchored me to the couch. Fear that if I said it out loud, it would be real. So I said nothing.
The second time, there was no denying. His phone buzzed on the nightstand while he was outside taking out the trash. Without thinking, I glanced at the screen. Emily’s name. My pulse spiked. I didn’t answer, but before I could even lock the screen, it stopped—and seconds later, my phone lit up with a call from her.
I hesitated, then answered.
“Sweetheart,” she said, her voice dripping with familiarity. “Isn’t it a little late to be calling?”
I swallowed hard. “Emily,” I said, forcing calm. “Why are you calling Daniel’s phone?”
Silence. Then a soft laugh. “So you finally caught on.”
My stomach dropped. “Caught on to what?”
“That he doesn’t belong to you,” she whispered. “Not really. Not anymore.”
The words shattered something inside me. “You’re my sister,” I whispered back, my voice breaking.
“Exactly,” she said, her tone sharp. “Which is why you should have known I’ve wanted what you had all along.”
The line went dead.
When Daniel walked back in, wiping his hands on a dish towel, I was still clutching the phone, my knuckles white. He frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Why is my sister calling you ‘sweetheart’?” I demanded.
His eyes widened, but only for a second. Then he sighed, setting the towel down. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” I snapped. “Either she’s lying, or you are. Which is it?”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “She—she calls sometimes. Too much. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d overreact.”
“Overreact?” My voice cracked. “Daniel, she’s answering your phone. She’s calling you pet names. Do you think I’m stupid?”
His silence was all the answer I needed.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my heart aching with a weight I couldn’t carry. The word “sweetheart” looped in my head like a curse. Once, it had been mine, whispered against my hair in the quiet of night. Now it belonged to her. My sister.
The next morning, Emily showed up at the house, bold as ever, smiling like nothing was wrong. She leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head. “He told you, didn’t he?”
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. “How could you? You’re my sister.”
Her smile faltered, then hardened. “Because for once, I wanted to be chosen.”
I closed the door in her face before she could say more.
Final Thought
Sometimes betrayal isn’t shouted. Sometimes it’s whispered through a phone receiver, in a name that was once yours alone. Hearing my sister call me “sweetheart” wasn’t just proof of her betrayal—it was proof that the love I thought I had was already gone, stolen in the smallest of words.
