I was the middle child, and in true middle-child fashion, I was the most problematic among my brothers. Some might say I was dramatic; I prefer the term “boundary-challenged.” Our mother, a reserved woman of great patience and silent judgment, somehow managed to raise three boys despite our father’s questionable presence in our lives.
Now, let’s be clear—I was the most desirable among us. —objectively speaking, we were all good-looking, and women were never an issue for any of us. But somehow, I had a grandur sense of self because I felt I had the most charm, so sure, River, my older brother, had his charm, and Beck, our youngest, had youth on his side. But me? I had charisma, the kind that made women forget my flaws (or so I thought). River was two years my senior and the responsible one—until he decided responsibility was overrated. He did a job that put him in the public eye but was as withdrawn as a hermit in a thunderstorm. After a few traumatic events, he became reserved, retreating into his work like a hermit who only emerged for food and occasional small talk. Beck, ten years younger, idolized me despite my many misadventures. He and I had a solid bond, mostly because he wasn’t old enough to challenge my reign of terror.
Then there was Kaya. Everyone told me she was bad news, which, of course, made me more determined to prove them wrong. Our relationship was a masterclass in toxicity—infidelity, screaming matches, silent treatments, and passionate reconciliations that lasted about as long as a sitcom episode. Naturally, we got married. Not out of love, mind you, but because I wanted to be the first of my brothers to do it. Firstborn privileges? Overrated. Middle-child audacity? Underrated.
Just as my marriage was circling the drain, River announced he’d met “the one.” I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained something. what do you mean he had found a woman who made him want to leave his cave of solitude? Unbelievable. River hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in years, and I was skeptical. and I had heard this speech before. But then I met Brook and this time, this girl seemed different.
She was tiny, fierce, and the polar opposite of River—exactly what he needed, which annoyed me. They were disgustingly perfect. Brook had a way of making people feel seen and I had decided that personal space was a myth. I immediately took advantage of by offloading my problems onto her. She listened, graciously offering support, while I, in turn, tested every social boundary possible. How could she be so patient, kind and supportive. absolutely disgusting, right?
I asked for favors, inserted myself into their relationship, and slowly, a new thought crept into my mind: why should River have someone so good when my life was a flaming wreck? I knew I was being shady, but in my delusional mind, it was my right. I deserved all the good things in life, and if I couldn’t have them, then River sure as hell shouldn’t either.
Fast forward—River proposed, Beck and I feigned enthusiasm, and Brook, in a moment of what I could only assume was temporary insanity, said yes. Their wedding was beautiful, a rare gathering of family and strange uncles we only saw at events with free food. But for me, the best part was that it presented a golden opportunity: to ruin something River cherished.
Enter Ara. Our gorgeous neighbor and childhood church friend. She was close to River, then became close to Brook, and for reasons I couldn’t fathom, she rejected my advances repeatedly. She had really friend-zoned me with the force of a thousand suns. Her friendship with my brother and Brook irritated me to no end. Why did River get all these good things while I, in all my grandeur, was left scrambling for scraps?
Then, a perfect storm brewed. A month into their marriage, Brook, ever inquisitive, asked me about rumors of River and Ara’s past. Did I clarify with integrity? Absolutely not. Instead, I spun a tale that made River sound like the king of infidelity. According to my revised history, he had never been faithful, and I had even walked in on him and Ara in a compromising position. Lies? Yes. Effective? Also yes.
Brook was devastated. I seized my chance, calling her daily to “offer counsel” while subtly nudging her toward divorce. I enlisted my mother and Beck in my campaign, ensuring that River’s marriage stood on shaky ground. I baited him, recorded conversations, twisted his words, and fed Brook just enough doubt to make her question everything.
For weeks, River remained oblivious to the mastermind behind his marital turmoil. He confided in me, seeking advice, unaware that I was orchestrating the whole disaster. Until, suddenly, Brook stopped taking my calls.
Something shifted. River, usually withdrawn, started paying closer attention. He figured it out. At a family gathering, he called me out, laying every detail bare. My betrayal. My lies. My relentless need to tear him down. The room fell silent. My mother looked disappointed, Beck looked stunned, and Brook? Brook looked like she had known all along.
River, ever the dignified one, didn’t bother airing my additional sins—like my repeated, spectacularly unsuccessful attempts to charm Ara. Instead, he simply exposed me and waited. I offered him a half-hearted apology that was about as sincere as a politician’s campaign promise. Well, I wasn’t sorry. River, always the loner, withdrew even further into his self-imposed exile. Brook put some well-earned distance between us but kept the door cracked with our mother and Beck. And me? I moved on to my next masterclass in chaos because, honestly, if I wasn’t stirring the pot, was I even alive?
Would I do it all over again? Absolutely. Did I learn my lesson? Not really. Did River’s marriage survive? Unfortunately, and surprisingly yes. Did I move on to create chaos elsewhere? Absolutely.
Here’s the thing—jealousy, when nurtured, can turn into a full-time job. I had dedicated myself to making River’s life miserable, all because I thought happiness was a competition. But in the end, River still had Brook, and I was just a lonely, chaotic mess with no marriage, no credibility, and a bruised ego.
The real punchline? Even if I had somehow managed to steal Brook away, I wouldn’t have treated her well. It was never about love—it was about the thrill of proving I could take whatever (and whoever) I wanted, including my brother’s wife. Now that’s a conversation starter, don’t you think? And that, my friends, is how you break the hearts of people who foolishly believe you’re capable of loving them.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have new disasters to create. After all, what’s a middle child without a little mischief?