Chapter 23: The Letter

Emma,

I don’t even know where to start. Nothing I write here will truly explain how I feel, nor will it fix what I’ve done. But I have to try.

The first time I saw your profile ... well, Emmy, I mean ... I had no idea it was you. It was just a random discovery on ForFansOnly. I wasn’t even supposed to be there ... It was just a way to escape my thoughts, to distract myself.

At first, that’s all it was. A photo. An intriguing profile. A comment, nothing more. But quickly, it turned into something else. It wasn’t just about the photos or the videos anymore.

What really got to me was you. Not just your body—though, let’s be honest, it completely messed with my head—but mostly, your words.

Your responses. Your humor. The way you spoke completely threw me off. It was light, smart, direct.

I know it sounds crazy, but before I even realized it, I found myself waiting for your messages. Not just for the pictures, but for what you had to say. You made me laugh. You made me think. And somehow, you understood me.

Emmy was more than just a profile on some porn app. She was ... perfect no, no one’s perfect, but fuck, you were pretty damn close to it for me.

I don’t know when it changed. When it became something else. Maybe it started when you first opened up to me—when you told me about your doubts, your dreams, your way of seeing the world.

I hung on to every single word. And that’s when everything shifted.

I shouldn’t say this, but ... I fell in love. With you. With all of it. With your mind, your jokes ... with your body too. Fuck, especially with your body. I hate writing that. But it’s the truth.

Fuck, this feels so weird to write...

You were my lifeline, my escape.

And that terrified me. Because the more I felt for you, the more real it became. And that’s when I started to lose control.

I remember the moment you offered to show me your face. It surprised me, but more than anything, it excited me. Up until then, everything had been almost abstract—words, images, conversations. But now, you wanted me to see who you really were.

I had no idea what to expect. My heart was racing that day. I think it was the idea of finally putting a face to everything we had shared. Making it even more real.

And then, when I saw your photo...

It was a shock. A punch to the gut. My brain refused to believe it. But there it was.

Your face. You.

I won’t lie—I cried. Not just because it was you, but because I knew everything we had built was about to collapse. I felt devastated, lost, unable to make sense of how this was even possible.

My first instinct was to tell you. To explain everything. To end this immediately. But you looked so happy, so relieved to finally show me who you were ... I couldn’t bring myself to take that away from you.

So I waited. A day. Then two. Then another. And before I even realized it, I was trapped in my own silence.

From that moment on, I felt nothing. The shock had erased everything. But I kept going—automatically. I answered your messages without thinking, just because I was afraid of hurting you.

I tried not to look at your photos. I saw them, but I did everything I could not to pay attention. Because it wasn’t the same anymore. Because I knew. And it made me sick.

And then, there was that weekend at our grandparents’ house.

That’s when everything really hit me. Being with you, seeing you smile, hearing you laugh ... it reminded me how much I care about you. Not Emmy. You. Emma. My little sister. The person I’ve always wanted to protect, even if I haven’t always been the best at it.

I can’t even explain how much that weekend opened my eyes. I realized that our bond as siblings was the most important thing. That nothing—not even this fucked-up situation—should ever destroy that.

That’s why, as soon as we got back, I made the decision to end it.

I did it out of love, Emma. But not the twisted, confusing kind that grew out of this virtual mess. No. I did it because I love you as your brother. Because I want you to be happy, to move forward without carrying the weight of this.

I know words will never be enough. I know you’ll probably hate me for a long time, and I deserve that. I’m ashamed, Emma. Ashamed of lying to you, ashamed of not stopping this sooner.