I was all set to get married, but I’ve fallen for his brother! How do I untangle this mess?
My name is Emma Thompson, and I live in York, where the River Ouse gently winds around the historic streets. I’m 28 and in despair—I need your advice, your perspective. I’ve had a string of failed relationships: I was betrayed, abandoned, used, and left heartbroken. So, when I met Anthony by the English coast, his persistent courting didn’t immediately win me over. I kept my distance, thinking it would be just a harmless holiday fling. But he wasn’t like the others—polite, intelligent, honestly sincere. Anthony confessed he was struck by my beauty, intellect, and grace, and that I was the one he wished to build a family with and share his life until his last breath. He had a prestigious job, stability, and confidence—he could provide for a wife and children.
Our connection didn’t fade after the holiday. I came back to York, while he returned to London, where he was from. Every evening, he’d call—not annoyingly—and on Fridays, he’d come over to spend the weekends together, bringing us closer each day. Gradually, I believed he was right; we were meant for each other. Both mature, seasoned by experience, ready for serious commitments. His love was stronger than mine, which gave me hope that I wouldn’t get burned again by a man’s deceit. When I finally said “yes” to his proposal, Anthony took me to meet his parents in London. They welcomed me warmly with smiles, even verbally approved of their son’s choice. In their presence, he solemnly placed a stunning engagement ring on my finger, and his mother took me to a jeweller’s to choose a gold necklace and earrings. She insisted I pick what I liked, which touched me deeply.
We set the wedding for mid-September—waiting for his brother, Daniel, to return from Switzerland where he lived and worked. Anthony, with bright eyes, was eager to introduce us. The day after Daniel’s return, Anthony brought him to York. Everything crumbled then. The moment our eyes met, I felt the ground shift beneath me. No man’s presence had ever been this electrifying—the pounding of my heart, the breathlessness. Daniel was stunned too, like caught by a thunderbolt, unblinking as he gazed at me. It was inexplicable: you meet a person for the first time, and the pull—both spiritual and physical—sweeps over you like a wave. That evening, he called me from London and laid it all out. His passionate, intense words still echo in my ears, making my knees weak. He said for Anthony, marriage was about duty, stability, order, and that I was the perfect wife by his strict standards, like a box ticked. But it wasn’t love. Not the mad, all-consuming passion burning in him and which he saw reflected in my eyes. He couldn’t live knowing another man—even his brother—embraced me, possessed me.
I cried, trying to explain I’d given my word, that his parents wouldn’t bear such a blow, that we must suppress these torturous feelings. But he wouldn’t listen. “We’ll elope to Switzerland, marry, and let everyone know. Anything else is agony, a slow death. Our love doesn’t deserve a grave!” he shouted down the phone. I was torn between guilt and the fire in my chest. Anthony was reliable, kind, while Daniel was like a storm sweeping me into a chasm of emotion. I felt like a traitor to one and hopelessly in love with the other. Then fate threw a curveball: I slipped on the office stairs and broke my ankle and hand. Two complicated surgeries, plaster casts, months of recovery—we had to postpone the wedding.
Now, Anthony visits me in York every weekend. He surrounds me with care, tenderness, supports me through the pain and the cast, assures me he’ll wait at the altar. Meanwhile, Daniel calls five times a day from Switzerland, begging me to agree to a getaway: “I’ll fly over, whisk you away in secret, take you to mine!” His voice is like poison to my conscience, yet irresistibly enticing. My heart screams: choose love, plunge into the depths with Daniel! But logic, upbringing, and morality insist: stay with Anthony, forget this madness, don’t destroy what’s been built. I’m torn apart. Sometimes I think: should I just cut them both out of my life? Leave, so I don’t betray one and suffer over the other? But is that right?
I’m sleepless at nights, imagining Anthony placing the ring on my finger, then Daniel kissing me in some village by a Swiss lake. One is my fortress; the other, my fire. Anthony’s parents welcomed me as a daughter, yet I’m about to break their hearts. Daniel is ready to leave everything for me, but I fear ruining his life if I say no. How do I choose between duty and passion? How do I avoid being the one who betrays them all—and myself? I’m trapped, in this chaos of emotions, with no way out in sight. Tell me, what should I do, how do I go on with this love tearing me apart?”
