My wedding was never meant to happen: I had a son, and Mark married the woman his mother chose for him.
Sometimes fate crumbles in an instant—like a house of cards built with hope, love, and faith in the future. And then… it all turns into betrayal, pain, and silent loneliness. That’s what happened to me.
My name is Daisy, and I’m ready to share my story, which even after all these years, I cannot recount without tears.
Mark and I were together for almost a year. It was true love—easy, warm, sincere. He was caring, attentive, and it felt like we were on the same wavelength. After six months, I moved in with him, and soon we applied for our marriage license. The wedding date was set, and our families were joyfully preparing; my mum even ordered her dress in advance. It seemed his mother was delighted with our relationship too. She welcomed me warmly, brought homemade pies, and said I was “just what her son needed.”
Mark grew up in challenging circumstances—his dad left the family when he was just a child, ran off with another woman, then divorced her too, and disappeared. Perhaps that’s why Mark was so attached to his mother, and her opinion meant the world to him.
Ten days before the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise everyone and reveal it on our big day. My father was quite traditional, and such news before the wedding could have been a shock. I dreamed of announcing it with pride when he walked me down the aisle.
Wedding preparations were in full swing: we chose decorations, discussed the menu, rehearsed our first dance… And then, a week before the wedding, right at my mother’s birthday party, Mark announced: there would be no wedding. Because… the child was not his.
Those words hit not only me but my entire family. My parents didn’t even know I was pregnant. In shock, I asked him what he meant. That’s when Mark showed me a photo—I’m at a crosswalk beside an unfamiliar man. It was taken from a distance, at an angle that created an illusion of closeness. He insisted this was “proof” of my infidelity.
I tried to explain I didn’t know this person, that he was probably just a passerby. But Mark wouldn’t listen. He was deaf to my words, as if he’d already decided to believe a lie.
That night, my mother took to bed—from the shame, from the humiliation. From having to call family to tell them there would be no wedding. That her daughter was pregnant, and the groom had fled, leaving her at the hospital doors.
I gave birth to a son five months later. Named him Andrew. My parents, despite everything, supported me, though I saw how hard it was for them. They held on with all their strength—for me and my little boy.
I tried not to think of Mark. But later I learned the truth. His mother never wanted me in their family. Too “simple,” not the kind who would play along, submit, or be “convenient.” She persuaded her son to break off the engagement and set up the farce with the photograph. In my place, she arranged for him to marry Agnes—a daughter from an influential family with good connections and money.
Mark married Agnes a couple of months after our drama. But life quickly set things straight. Agnes wasn’t who she pretended to be. She promptly put her mother-in-law in her place, took over the whole house, and didn’t let anyone interfere in their affairs. Mark couldn’t endure it. He left for work in Germany and later filed for divorce.
Recently, he started writing to me through social media, apologizing, saying he now understands everything and wants to connect with Andrew. That it doesn’t matter whose son he is, as long as he can be close.
But I no longer believe. My trust has burned to ashes. I don’t want my son growing up near someone capable of such betrayal, who couldn’t listen to his heart and followed his mother’s lead, who chose lies, convenience, and cowardice.
Yes, I know one should be able to forgive. But I don’t want to let back into my life those who once chose to betray me. I’ve learned to be strong. Learned not to wait. Learned to be a mother without a man’s help. I have Andrew—my meaning, my love, my strength.
And Mark… let him live with his conscience. If he still has a drop of the love he once promised me, he’ll understand why I didn’t open the door when he knocked ten years later. And maybe that will be his true punishment.
