My wedding was not meant to be: I had a son, and Mark married the one his mother had chosen for him.
Sometimes destiny crumbles in an instant, just like a house of cards built with hope, love, and faith in the best. And then… it all turns into betrayal, pain, and silent loneliness. This is exactly what happened to me.
My name is Daisy, and I am ready to share my story, which, despite the passage of years, I still cannot tell without tears.
Mark and I had been together for almost a year. It was true love—easy, warm, and genuine. He was caring and attentive, and it seemed like we spoke the same language. Six months into the relationship, I moved in with him, and soon we filed for a marriage license. The wedding date was set, and our parents happily prepared; my mom even ordered her dress well in advance. It even seemed his mother was delighted with our union. She welcomed me with smiles, brought homemade pies, and said I was “just what her son needed.”
Mark grew up under difficult circumstances—his father left the family when Mark was very young, ran off with another woman, divorced again, and then vanished. Maybe that’s why Mark was so attached to his mother; her opinion really mattered to him.
Ten days before the wedding, I discovered that I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise him with the news on our wedding day. My father is old-fashioned, and such news before marriage could be shocking for him. I dreamed of telling him when he proudly walked me down the aisle.
Wedding preparations were in full swing: we were choosing the venue decorations, discussing the menu, and rehearsing the first dance. But then, a week before the wedding, right at my mom’s birthday, Mark announced: there would be no wedding because… the child was not his.
Those words were a blow not just to me but to my entire family. My parents were unaware of my pregnancy. In horror, I asked what he meant. Mark then showed me a photo—of me standing at a crosswalk next to an unknown man. It was taken from afar, at an angle that gave the illusion of closeness. He insisted it was “proof” of my infidelity.
I tried to explain I didn’t know the person, that it was likely just a random passerby. But Mark wouldn’t listen. He was deaf to my words, as if he had already decided to believe the lie.
That same night my mother fell ill—from shame, from humiliation. From having to call relatives and say the wedding was off. That her daughter was pregnant and the groom had fled, leaving her on the hospital doorstep.
I gave birth to my son five months later. I named him Andrew. My parents, despite everything, supported me. Even though I could see how hard it was for them. They held on with all their might—for me and for my child.
I tried not to think about Mark. But later I learned the truth. His mother never wanted me in their family. I was too “simple,” not someone who knows how to play along or submit, not someone “convenient.” She persuaded her son to break off the engagement and staged a ruse with the photograph. Instead of me, she pushed him towards Agnes—a daughter from an influential family with good connections and money.
Mark married Agnes a couple of months after our ordeal. But life soon put everything in its rightful place. Agnes turned out to be not who she seemed. She immediately put her mother-in-law in her place, took over the whole house for herself, and allowed no one to meddle in their affairs. Mark couldn’t endure it. He moved to Germany for work and later filed for divorce.
Recently, he started messaging me through social media. He apologized, saying he realized everything and wanted to be part of Andrew’s life. He said it didn’t matter whose son he was, as long as he could be close.
But I no longer believe him. My trust has burned to ashes. I don’t want my son growing up near someone capable of such betrayal. Someone who didn’t listen to his heart but followed his mother’s directives. Someone who chose lies, convenience, and cowardice.
Yes, I know forgiveness is important. But I don’t want to let those back into my life who once chose to betray me. I have learned to be strong. Learned not to wait. Learned to be a mother without a man’s help. I have Andrew—my reason, my love, my strength.
And Mark… let him live with his conscience. If he has even a scrap of that love he once promised me, he will understand why I did not open the door when he knocked ten years later.
And perhaps, that will be his true punishment.
