My sister-in-law wore a two-strap dress and hugged a pillow, demanding to sleep with my husband and I on our wedding night. She even wanted to lie in the middle. In the middle of the night, while I was dreaming, I heard whispering behind me. When I turned around, I was stunned by what happened… On our wedding night, I had just taken off my wedding dress, washed my face, and had not yet sat down on the bed when the door to the room knocked. My sister-in-law – 30 years old, unmarried, with a strange personality – hugged a pillow, wearing a tight two-strap dress, smiling as if nothing had happened: “Tonight, I will sleep with you two! Since childhood, my younger brother and I have never slept separately. Today, he is getting married, so I am… disappointed.” I turned to my husband in surprise. He stammered: “I was just joking… right?” She glanced at him, then looked at me, smiling half-heartedly: “I’m not joking. I will lie in the middle. It is both to keep ‘clean’ for the first night and… to miss my youngest son less.” I froze. A new wife had been in her husband’s house for less than 24 hours, arguing now would be considered “rude”. Her mother-in-law stood outside the door and shouted: “Let her lie down, it’s a small matter!” So… I lay outside, my husband lay against the wall, and my sister-in-law was in between. I tried to close my eyes and swallow my lump. But at around 2am, while I was still dreaming, I heard a soft whisper behind me. A very close sound, hissing each word: “Do you remember… when you were little, you used to crawl into my body to sleep… Why don’t you try again, that girl is asleep…” My heart was pounding. I slowly turned around — and was stunned. My sister-in-law was leaning her face close to my husband, her hand in his shirt, and he… didn’t react, his eyes half-closed, his mouth moaning softly as if unconsciously. I couldn’t believe my eyes. But before I could say anything, my sister-in-law turned around — her eyes met mine, then she smiled and calmly said, “You’re awake, sister-in-law? That’s good. I wanted to have a serious conversation.” She sat up, tossed her hair, and said coldly, “For five years, I’ve raised this boy from a young age to adulthood, taking care of his every sleep and every meal. Do you think you, as my wife, have the right to take everything away from me?” I choked. My husband still didn’t say anything — his eyes evaded, he was as still as a statue, neither defending me nor opposing his sister. The next morning, I packed my suitcase, leaving the unwashed white wedding dress on the floor. When I walked out the door, my sister-in-law stood on the stairs looking down, holding a cup of hot milk, smiling triumphantly, “If you can’t take it, then leave. This house… has never had room for a third person to interfere with our relationship.

I am Emily Carter, 27, and I just married the man I believe is my destiny — Ethan Miller, a gentle, thoughtful, introverted software engineer.

The wedding in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, was perfect: twinkling lights, applause, well-wishes.

I thought, after all, I would finally live in a peaceful love.

But I was wrong.

On our wedding night, as I finished changing into my wedding dress, there were three light knocks on the door.

Ethan was still in the bathroom, so I opened the door.

The person standing there stunned me — Ethan’s older sister, Victoria.
She was wearing a thin nightgown, hugging a pillow, her smile faintly concealing something.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” she asked, her voice joking but not quite joking.

“I… I’m sorry?” I hesitated.

Victoria smiled, tilting her head:

“Ethan and I… we used to sleep in the same room for years after our parents died.

It feels strange tonight — he’s never slept without me nearby.”

I froze.

As soon as Ethan walked out, I looked at him as if pleading. He awkwardly smiled:

“She’s just kidding. Right, Vic?”

But Victoria looked at me, her eyes cold:

“No, I’m not.”

Under pressure from my mother-in-law — who had always considered Victoria a “replacement” for my dead mother — I had no choice.

“Let her stay,” she said through the door, “She’s fragile. It’s just for one night.”

And so, on my wedding night, my sister-in-law lay between us.

I lay close to the edge of the bed, listening to the steady breathing of the two of them.

The room was dark, but my discomfort burned like fire.

Around 2 a.m., I woke up to a very soft whisper.

Victoria’s voice.

“You don’t need her, Ethan. Remember? It used to be just you and me. We promised we’d always stay together.”

Her voice was shaky, choked with pain and obsession.

I opened my eyes — and saw her holding Ethan’s hand, her eyes wet but not with tears.

Ethan pulled his hand back, his voice hoarse:

“Vic, stop. You’re scaring me.”

Victoria laughed, a strange laugh, a mix of sadness and anger:

“You replaced me, Ethan. Just like Dad replaced Mom before he died. You said we’d always be a team.”

I turned on the light.
The white light startled us both.

I looked at Victoria, trying to stay calm:

“Victoria, this isn’t normal. You need help.”

She was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly:

“Of course. The new wife always says that.”

Then she stood up, walked straight to the door, leaving behind the sweet, pungent smell of perfume and the devastated room.

Ethan collapsed on the bed, holding his head.

I had never seen him so weak.

He said that when their parents died in an accident when he was ten, Victoria – then fifteen – took on all the responsibility, raising him.

“She was everything — my sister, my guardian, my only family. But something broke inside her after the accident. She’s never let go since then.”

The next day, I went to see my mother-in-law, a woman with silver hair but still cold eyes.

When I told her everything, she only said briefly:

“Victoria lost her childhood that day. We all did. But she… she never learned how to stop being the protector. In her mind, Ethan still needs her. And anyone who takes him away is the enemy.”

I was silent. I began to understand — behind the insane jealousy was a wounded soul, never healed.

5. The Night She Let Go

A week later, Victoria left the house, leaving a short note on the kitchen table:

“I realized it’s time for Ethan to live his life. I’m moving to Seattle for therapy.
Tell Emily… she’s not my enemy. She’s the reason I finally saw the truth.”

I read the letter, my eyes watering.
When I showed it to Ethan, he squeezed my hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For staying.”

A year later, Victoria sent the first photo from Seattle.
She was smiling brightly at an art therapy workshop, her hands covered in paint, her eyes peaceful.

Below was a note:

“For my brother and his brave wife — love doesn’t mean holding on. Sometimes, it means learning to let go.”

I smiled, placing the photo on my desk.
In my heart, instead of resentment, there is only gratitude and sympathy.

There are people who seem “crazy”, but in fact, they are just suffering for too long without anyone hearing their heart.

Love is not about possession — it is about learning to let go at the right time, so that both can be free