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

The False Forgiveness

The three of us exited the table and I stood in front of them. “Ryan,” I said quietly, approaching him.

“I’m so sorry for the way I behaved. I was confused and lonely and I misread your kindness as something more. That was my mistake, my sickness. You’ve always been a good husband to my sister and a good father to Sophie and I never should have put you in that position. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

Ryan looked at me closely. I could see him trying to figure out whether this was real, whether I had given up, and if his strategy had worked as well as he had hoped.

“I appreciate that, Megan,” he said.

“I know this wasn’t easy for you to say and I want you to know that I forgive you. I just want us all to move forward as a family.”

His arm encircled Emma. “See, babe? I told you she would come around. She just needed some time to process everything.”

Emma nodded and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Megan,” she responded.

“This means a lot to me. I’ve missed you so much.”

I hugged my sister and told her I miss her. Over her shoulder I noticed Ryan.

He grinned that arrogant smirk he had threatened me with in my flat, his arrogant claim that he had won. I smiled.

When we met again, something changed in his face. I was perplexed, curious, and optimistic that I had finally come to my senses.

He felt my grin to be important. He felt my outfit noteworthy.

He thought I knew what I was missing when I turned him away from the kitchen that night. I’d let him think that till his death trap set.

Ryan looked at me during dinner; I noticed his eyes constantly searching for reasons to dip to my chest. His smile drew my attention while Emma was not looking.

He wanted me regardless. He wanted me.

He questioned whether I wanted him back. Good; he should believe it.

Allow him to get overconfident and stop thinking. Allow him to become so immersed in imagination that he forgets to protect himself.

The following family lunch was two weeks away. I had 14 days to make Ryan desire me so badly that he’d say anything.

I would ask him to say it to his wife. I texted him the next day.

Nothing offensive that might hurt me; simple family greetings that convey affection. “Hey Ryan, do you have the recipe for that pasta Emma made last week? I want to try it.”

“What time is Sophie’s dance recital? I want to send her flowers.”

“Thanks for being so understanding at dinner. It meant more than you know.”

He responded to every communication within minutes. His first answers were guarded.

“Sure, here’s the recipe.”

“Recital is Saturday at 3:00.”

“Of course, family is everything.”

The Rope is Anchored

Midway through the first week, the tone shifted. One message had a smiley face; another a wink.

He began texting me first at the end of the week. “Been thinking about you today. Hope everything’s going okay.”

“You looked really nice on Sunday. Green is definitely your color.”

“Emma’s taking Sophie to her mom’s this weekend. Going to be pretty lonely around here.”

I disregarded the messages. I kept them set to read and watched the little message that showed he was typing, not typing, then typing again.

He was puzzled and wanted to know where we stood. Desperation was just what I needed.

I dressed even more precisely for the second family dinner. The same technique applies: low but not too low, fitted but not too tight.

I sat across from Ryan at the table, keeping his gaze when Emma turned away. Sometimes I grinned.

I occasionally looked down at the table in embarrassment. Sometimes I bit my lip and saw his pupils dilate across the table.

He was drowning and the only thing I could do was throw him a rope. He did not realize the rope was anchored.

My mother asked for help with the dishes after supper. I eagerly volunteered and Ryan said,

“I’ll help too, babe. You stay and relax.”

Emma was taken aback. “That’s sweet of you.”

Ryan and I entered the kitchen together and he came to a halt because he was too near. I felt his heat behind me as I rinsed a plate.

“You’ve changed lately,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” I said, looking at the dishes.

“The way you’ve been texting me. The way you keep looking at me at dinner?”

He approached and grabbed my neck. “The way you’ve been dressing.”

I switched off the water and gently wiped my hands. I turned around and leaned on the countertop.

Ryan stood inches away, his eyes dark with need. “I’ve been thinking about that night,” I confessed.

“In the kitchen at Emma’s party?”

He said, “Yeah.”

“I was scared,” I said.

“I was so scared of how much I wanted to say yes, so I pushed you away and tried to pretend I didn’t feel anything. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, Ryan. About what could have happened. About what I missed.”

His fingers massaged my arm. I tried not to flinch.

“I knew it,” he said.

“I knew you felt it too.”

I caught his look through my eyelashes. I was hoped we could speak alone.

Ryan moved his hand from my arm to my waist where he held me that night. “When?”

“Next Sunday,” I announced.

“Same thing. You help with dishes, but this time I’ll make sure we have more privacy.”

A wide smile seemed dreadful. “You’re serious right now?”

*”I’m serious,” I explained.

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Ryan. I haven’t been able to since that night. I was just too scared to admit it.”

I heard footsteps and walked away as my mother entered the doorway. “How are those dishes coming along?”

“Almost done, Mom.”

I brighten. Ryan looked at me as if I had handed him the moon.

One week. The final section of my strategy was due in one week.

I only had to get her close enough to hear it without his noticing.

Planting the Seeds

I spent three days mentally touring Emma’s house, memorizing every room, closet, and hiding place. The master bedroom walk-in closet with the slatted doors that lead into the room sprang to mind.

Emma could see and hear everything in the bedroom from the closet. The closet would seem dark and empty from the outside.

I called Emma Wednesday. “Hey,” I said, sounding sisterly.

“I was wondering if I could come over early on Sunday before the family dinner? Help you set up and spend some time together just the two of us.”

“That would be really nice,” she went on.

“I’ve missed our sister time.”

“Me too. Oh and hey, Ryan has been so sweet lately. He keeps texting to check in on me, make sure I’m doing okay. You’re really lucky to have him, Emma.”

I heard a beat of silence when the seed was planted. “He texts you?”

*”Just supportive stuff, nothing weird. He’s just being a good brother-in-law, you know? Making sure I’m handling everything okay, right?”

“Right,” Emma said, but her voice changed.

A modest foundation fracture. Good; I wanted her to keep an eye on her marriage.

I wanted her to pay closer attention to him than she had previously. I arrived at Emma’s apartment two hours early on Sunday.

Not Ryan’s car in the driveway. Emma informed me that he had taken Sophie to get ice cream before letting me in.

Wanted to give us some girl time. During the first hour of cooking, I planted small seeds of mistrust.

“Ryan seems stressed lately. Is everything okay with you guys? He’s been texting me a lot. I hope you don’t think that’s weird. I feel like he’s trying really hard to make things right between all of us. It’s sweet, actually.”

Emma was supposed to ask why her husband was so worried about my well-being. With each comment to sew the smallest seed of doubt that would blossom when she discovered his genuine feelings for her.

Emma said she’d take a short shower after we finish cooking. “Make yourself at home,” she said.

“Ryan should be back soon.”

This was my opportunity. Actually, I follow up.

“Would you mind if I use the bathroom in your bedroom? The one down here is out of soap.”

“Sure, go ahead.”