I was all set to get married, but I’ve fallen in love with his brother! How do I sort out this mess?
My name is Emily Sparrow, and I live in York, where the River Ouse gently winds through historic streets. I’m 28 and in despair—I need your advice, your perspective. Behind me is a string of unsuccessful relationships: I’ve been betrayed, abandoned, used, left with a broken heart. So when I met Tom by the English Channel, his determined courting didn’t immediately win me over. I kept my distance, thinking it would be a light holiday fling. But he wasn’t like the others—polite, intelligent, and honest to a fault. Tom admitted that he was struck by my beauty, intelligence, and manners, saying I was the one he wanted to build a family with and stand by until his last breath. He had a respectable job, stability, confidence—he could support a wife and children.
Our bond didn’t end after the holiday. I returned to York, and he went back to London, where he was from. Every evening he called me, never being too much. On Fridays, he would visit—I cherished our weekends together, growing closer each day. Gradually, I believed he was right—we were meant for each other. Both mature, wise from experience, ready for serious steps. His love was stronger than mine, giving me hope that I wouldn’t be hurt by men’s games and infidelity again. When I finally said “yes” to his proposal, Tom took me to London to meet his parents. They welcomed me warmly, with smiles, even openly approving their son’s choice. In their presence, he ceremoniously placed a stunning engagement ring on my finger, and his mother took me to a jeweller to pick out a gold necklace and earrings. She insisted I choose something I liked—it touched me deeply.
We set the wedding for mid-September as we awaited the return of his brother, James, from Switzerland, where he lived and worked. Tom, with enthusiasm in his eyes, couldn’t wait to introduce us. The day after James arrived, Tom brought him to York. That’s when everything fell apart. The moment our eyes met, I felt the ground slip away. Never had a man’s presence affected me so—my heart raced, my breath faltered. I saw James freeze, as if struck by lightning, unable to look away from me. It was inexplicable: seeing someone for the first time, yet feeling a tidal wave of attraction—both emotional and physical. That evening he called me from London and laid everything out. His passionate, fervent words still echo in my ears, making my knees buckle. He said that for Tom, marriage was duty, stability, order, and I was the perfect wife according to his strict criteria, like from a checklist. But that’s not love—not the wild, all-consuming passion blazing within him, which he saw reflected in my eyes. He can’t live knowing another—even his brother—holds and embraces me.
I cried, trying to explain that I had given my word, that his parents couldn’t bear such a blow, that we had to suppress these feelings, however painful they might be. But he wouldn’t listen. “We’ll elope to Switzerland, get married, and face everyone with the fact. Otherwise—it’s agony, a slow death. Our love doesn’t deserve a grave!” he shouted over the phone. I was torn between guilt and the fire in my chest. Tom was reliable, kind, and James was a storm sweeping me into the depths of passion. I felt like a traitor to one and hopelessly in love with the other. Then fate challenged me: I slipped on the stairs at the office, breaking my ankle and wrist. Two complex operations, casts, months of recovery—the wedding had to be postponed.
Now Tom visits me in York every weekend. He surrounds me with care, tenderness, support, helping me cope with the pain and the plaster, promising to wait for me at the altar. Meanwhile, James calls five times a day from Switzerland, begging me to agree to elope: “I’ll fly over, secretly take you away, whisk you to my place!” His voice—like a poison, gnawing at my conscience, yet irresistibly alluring. My heart screams: choose love, plunge into the unknown with James! But reason, upbringing, morality insist: stay with Tom, forget this madness, don’t destroy everything built. I’m torn. Sometimes I think: should I just remove both from my life? Leave, so as not to betray one and not torment myself over the other? But is that right?
I lay sleepless at night, imagining Tom slipping a ring on my finger, then James kissing me in some Swiss town by a lake. One is my fortress, the other my wildfire. Tom’s parents welcomed me like a daughter, and I’m on the brink of breaking their hearts. James prepared to leave everything for me, and I’m terrified that I’ll ruin his life if I refuse. How do I choose between duty and passion? How do I avoid being the one who betrays everyone—and myself included? I’m trapped in this storm of emotions and see no escape. Tell me, what do I do, how do I carry on with this love that’s tearing me apart?”
