My Sister’s Husband Framed Me For Seduction. But When My Sister…

The Cold Call

I needed to know how deep the harm was. I called my mother.

On the fourth ring, she responded. “Megan.”

I’d never heard her voice so cold. Not angry exactly, even worse—disappointment.

“I don’t think we should be talking right now.”

“Please, Mom,” I implored.

“Just let me explain. Everything Emma said at the barbecue was a lie. Ryan made it all up. He’s the one who came on to me at the party, and when I rejected him, he threatened to turn everyone against me.”

The other side was quiet. I heard her breathing.

A calm television was playing in the background. Every year I saw her sitting on the living room couch where I first began to walk, unwrapping Christmas presents, where I cried on her shoulder after my first boyfriend broke my heart.

My mother eventually said, “Ryan showed Emma the text messages.”

Her tone was low and heavy. “He showed her the pictures you sent him. I saw them, Megan. I saw them with my own eyes. It broke my heart.”

“What? The texts? The pictures?”

“I saw what you wrote to him. I saw what you sent him. Emma showed me on her phone.”

I clenched my steering wheel. “Mom, there are no texts. There are no pictures. I have never sent Ryan anything in my entire life. Whatever he showed Emma was fake. He made it up. He fabricated evidence because he knew nobody would believe me otherwise.”

My mother sighed heavily. “Megan, honey, I want to believe you. I do. But I saw those messages. The things you wrote were so explicit, so desperate. I didn’t even know you were capable of that kind of language.”

“Because I’m not!” I said, sobbing again because I hadn’t written them.

“Mom, please, you have to listen to me. Ryan is lying. He created fake texts to make himself look like the victim. I don’t know how he did it, but he did it and you’re all falling for it.”

My mother responded, “Why would he do that? Why would Ryan go through all that trouble? What would he have to gain from framing you?”

“Because I rejected him!” I said.

“Because he tried to kiss me in the kitchen at Emma’s party and I shoved him away and told him I was going to tell her. He threatened me, Mom. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed it so hard there were marks. He told me if I said anything he would destroy me.”

Another extended pause. My mother spoke again, tired.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Megan. I really don’t. But I do know that Ryan has always been good to your sister. He’s always been good to this family, and those messages I saw looked very real. The timestamps, the phone number, everything matched up.”

“Then let me show you my phone!” I implored.

“Let me come over right now and show you my actual texts. You can look through everything. You can see that I never sent him anything. Please, Mom, please, just give me a chance to prove it.”

I heard my mother stir on the couch. “I can’t do that,” she whimpered.

“Emma made me promise not to have any contact with you until you admit what you did and apologize. And honestly, Megan, after everything I saw, I think she’s right. I think you need to take some time to think about what you’ve done.”

She hung up before I could finish. Sitting there staring at my phone, I felt as if the ground had swallowed me.

Ryan didn’t lie; he supplied proof. He established a parallel universe with forged words and images that duped my mother.

Attempting to contact Dad, he stayed mute. He responded with, “Give your sister some space,” after hours after receiving my text message.

Sophie smacked me and my cousin said, “What the hell?”

I called him; my call went to voicemail. Three days passed without a response.

Sitting at my workstation at work, I looked at my computer screen but saw nothing. I cooked and watched television; I did not dine at home.

I checked my phone every five minutes hoping that someone would answer and believe me, but all I got were garbage emails and app updates.

The Confrontation

On the fourth day, I left my apartment to get food since I’d run out of everything and couldn’t justify starving myself. While walking to my car, I noticed Ryan’s SUV parked across the street with him in the driver’s seat observing my building.

When I recognized him, he grinned and waved as if we were old friends who had crossed paths by happenstance. He stepped out of his door and approached me.

Every instinct in my body urged me to run, lock my car, and go. I was so fatigued, enraged, and afraid of this man that I simply stood on the sidewalk and watched him approach.

“Hey, Megan,” he began, pausing a few feet away from her.

He was grinning, hands in his pockets, deceiving my family with his stunning smile. “How are you holding up?”

“What do you want, Ryan?”

He tilted his head and appeared worried. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re doing okay. I know this whole situation has been really hard and I feel bad about how everything went down.”

I observed him. “You feel bad?”

“I do. I never wanted things to get this ugly. I was hoping you would just let it go and we could all move on. But you had to threaten me. You had to make me feel like a criminal for finding you attractive. So what happened after that is kind of on you, when you think about it.”

This man’s bravado and shamelessness in front of me, accusing me of his activities. “Those texts are fake,” I said.

“Those pictures are fake. You know they’re fake because you made them. You fabricated evidence to destroy my life because your ego couldn’t handle being rejected.”

Ryan’s smile lingered. “See, that’s the thing, Megan. It doesn’t really matter what I know. It only matters what everyone else believes. And right now, everyone believes that you’re a desperate woman who tried to steal her sister’s husband. Your mom believes it, your dad believes it, Emma definitely believes it, and nothing you say is going to change that because I was very thorough.”

I didn’t back away when he approached. “You should have just kept quiet,” he said.

“That night in the kitchen, you should have just kept your mouth shut and none of this would have happened. But you had to threaten me. You had to act like I was some kind of predator for wanting you. So now you get to live with the consequences.”

He brushed my face with a finger. I slammed his palm so hard that it echoed throughout the buildings.

“Don’t touch me!”

Ryan gave a gentle laugh. “There’s that fire. I always like that about you, Megan. And Emma just goes along with everything I say, but you actually have some fight in you. It’s a shame things had to go this way. We could have been great together.”

“You’re delusional,” I said.

“I would rather die than let you touch me.”

He said, “That can be arranged,” so nonchalantly that I didn’t notice the risk.

“I’m kidding, mostly. But you should know that I told Emma.”

The Shame Chair

I restrained my rage at the idea of Ryan being the victim at home. “Please,” I said again.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I need closure. Just this one chance and then I’ll leave you both alone forever if that’s what you want. I just need to apologize properly, face to face, so I can start to heal.”

I heard Emma sigh. “Let me talk to Ryan. I’ll call you back,” she said, hanging up.

I gazed at my phone on the couch. Twenty minutes later, she called.

“Okay,” she said.

“Sunday dinner at Mom and Dad’s house, 6:00. But Megan, I swear to God, if you try anything or cause any drama, I will never speak to you again. This is your one chance; don’t waste it.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“Thank you, Emma. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she said.

“That’s why this has been so hard.”

Sunday morning preparations took two hours. I applied makeup with care to appear put together without looking too hard.

Ryan complimented my curls and flowing hair over my shoulders over a family dinner two years ago. I put on a shirt that I knew would draw him—low cut but not too low, fitted but not too tight.

Just enough to make him look and wonder if I wore it for him. I arrived at my parents’ house at 6:00.

I couldn’t read my mother’s face as she opened the door. “Megan joked.”

“I’m glad you decided to do the right thing.”

“Me too, Mom,” I murmured.

She parted to allow me in. When I entered the dining room, everyone was already seated.

My father seemed uncomfortable at the head of the table. Sophie stands between Emma and Ryan.

The unoccupied chair opposite from them was plainly intended for me—the shame chair. This chair would be used by the accused to ask pardon.

I sat and observed the table. It seemed like everyone was watching.

Ryan seemed to be paying close attention to me. I soon looked up and noticed him staring at my top, on my chest, not my face.

After a time, he realized I was looking at him and quickly glanced at his plate. Good; I sparked his curiosity.

Dinner was odd. My mother talked about the weather.

I addressed my father’s job concerns in straightforward language. Emma hardly noticed me.

Sophie continued in inquiring why everyone was so silent during lunch. I apologized three times.

I revealed my shame; my claim was to get professional aid. I can understand if they never trust me again.

I kept an eye on Ryan throughout. When I gazed at him, he always returned my gaze.

He stopped hiding it. When my mother served dessert, Emma told my father about Sophie’s school and he glanced at me.

He proceeded to glance at my top, then my face. I kept his gaze for longer than necessary each time I caught him—not long enough for others to notice, but enough to make you wonder.

I rose to the podium and requested, “Emma, can I talk to you and Ryan privately for a minute? I want to apologize to both of you properly away from everyone else.”

Emma looked at Ryan, still staring at me. He slowly nodded.

“Fine,” Emma said.

“Let’s go to the living room.”