He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 03

He Mistook My Sister For Me On Meetup Day Chapter 03

“I don’t remember.”

It was the first time I’d ever lied to my family’s face.

Iris’s voice jumped.

“How could you not remember? You saved every single letter.”

Evan walked in right then.

He only caught the last part.

“Why would you save Tidecaller’s letters?”

Iris sprang to her feet.

“Evan, don’t blame her. She’s just… always been jealous of what we have.”

My mother sighed.

“Lena’s always been like this. If Iris has something, she wants it too.”

I looked at Evan.

This was the third time.

At the airport, I tried to tell him I was Tidecaller, and he said I had a problem taking my sister’s things.

At the bookstore, I said those habits were mine, and he accused me of copying her.

Now, before I could even open my mouth, he’d already believed them.

Evan’s voice went cold. “Delete them.”

“Those are private—between me and Tidecaller.”

I asked, “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to assume you’re carrying a torch for something that isn’t yours.”

Iris tugged at his sleeve.

“Don’t be like that. She’s just lonely.”

The way she pleaded for me was so soft. So kind.

I felt something inside me give out.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Evan’s face relaxed, thinking I meant I’d delete everything.

But that night, I exported every email, every chat log, every scanned letter from seven years and handed them to Josie Hale.

Josie was my college roommate. Now she edited at a publishing house.

She went through the entire folder and was quiet for a long time.

“Are you here to ask me how to get him back?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

I stared at the screen—eighty-four letters, all lined up by title.

“My name back.”

Josie nodded. “Then let’s start with copyright registration.”

“As for the guy—he’s not worth anything. Not covered under protection.”

I let out a small laugh.

Three days later, Evan announced a seven-year letter exhibition called Tidecaller and Stonehaven.

He said those anonymous letters had carried him through the hardest years of his life. He wanted to give Tidecaller a proper beginning, in front of everyone who’d followed their story.

Iris was so excited she didn’t sleep that night.

My mother dug out the physical letters I’d kept and went through them one by one, picking which ones Iris should display.

“This one’s beautiful. Put it at the front.”

“This line is romantic—you can read it when he proposes.”

I reached for the box.

My mother clutched it to her chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Those are my letters.”

“Yours?” My father slid a document across the table. “Iris can’t write like that. You just polished a few lines for her.”

The title read: Affidavit of Work-for-Hire and Ghostwriting.

It said that all text published under the name “Tidecaller” had its true emotional and creative origin with Iris Tate, and that I served only as a ghostwriter.

I stared at the lines. My fingers went cold.

“Who told you I was writing for her?”

My mother’s patience snapped.

“Evan chose Iris in real life. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“Lena, you’ve had twenty-five years as her sister. Now she just wants one person who actually loves her—and you want to take that too?”

“I never took anything from her.”

My voice shook. “I’m your daughter.”

“So is she!” My mother slammed the table. “Which means you owe her.”

My father pointed at the affidavit.

“Sign it.”

“We’re family. Do you really want this aired out in public?”

I didn’t sign.

The next day, I went to the gallery.

A massive poster hung at the entrance. A girl in a crimson slip dress stood at the shore, smiling bright.

The text read:

[Tidecaller — real name: Iris Tate.]

[Seven years of letters. Revealed for the first time.]

And the name I’d written for seven years sat at the very bottom, in tiny print.

[Text compiled by: Lena Tate.]