“Dad, don’t mess up the order this time!” My sister, Isabella, called out from behind him as he rode the bike.
“Don’t worry, Isabella. Peter has been coming here enough times. How could I forget what he likes to eat?” my father responded confidently.
Just then, my younger brother, Carlos Lopez, walked in from outside. In his hand, he was holding a basketball. When he saw Peter, he eagerly approached him.
"Brother-in-law! You're here! Thanks for the sneakers you had my sister give me. I love them!”
The moment those words "Brother-in-law" came out so easily of his mouth, I finally understood. He was addressing Peter as Isabella’s boyfriend. He had never once called Peter that while we were together. For him, I was the mistress.
In fact, he had never even called me “sister.” Growing up, he only referred to me by my full name, without any hint of sibling affection.
It was now clear to me that my own parents and dear younger brother had known about Peter’s two-timing me all along.
The most laughable part? They had willingly disregarded me, his rightful girlfriend, as if I had never existed.