**Lost Daughter: A Betrayal for Her Husband**
My daughter, once so close and dear, has become a stranger. Here in our quiet town by the River Thames, I, Margaret, watch with aching heart as she disappears into her husband’s shadow, losing herself. Her blind obedience to his will shattered me, and her refusal to come to her father’s anniversary was the final blow. Now I’m left with this tormenting question—how do I save my daughter from herself, or is it already too late?
Sophie, our only child, was always our pride. My husband, Edward, and I doted on her, granting every wish. She graduated with honours, and as a reward, we sent her on a holiday to Spain. There, she met Daniel, a bloke from Manchester. I never trusted big-city folk—too brash, too forward. But Daniel seemed decent enough—opened a sports shop in our town, worked hard. We hoped Sophie would be happy with him.
After the wedding, they moved into the flat Edward inherited from his mother. At first, all seemed well. Daniel was into fitness, spent hours at the gym, and Sophie, it seemed, shared his passion. But soon, I noticed changes. She asked me not to call in the evenings: “Mum, Daniel and I just want time to ourselves after work.” I agreed, thinking it was her choice. Only later did I learn it was his demand. Sophie visited us only in the afternoons—never in the evenings, for those belonged to him.
Then I saw how thin she’d become—worryingly so. “Sophie, love, you look exhausted!” I fretted. “Daniel and I are eating clean now,” she murmured. “He wants us both sticking to the same meals.” Horror shot through me. “You’ll want children someday—why starve yourself? Eat properly!” But Sophie shut down, her face hollow, her eyes dull. I felt her slipping away.
Soon, she turned up with plumped lips and thick, painted-on brows. “Daniel likes it,” she muttered, avoiding my gaze. She looked like a stranger, a doll, but stayed silent when I tried to reason with her. For her birthday, I gave her a slow cooker, hoping to make her life easier. She thanked me but asked to leave it at my place. A week later, I took it round to hers. When Daniel saw it, he snapped, “What’s this rubbish? Trying to make Sophie lazy? We don’t need it!” Sophie begged me, “Mum, take it back—please, or there’ll be a row.” I did, but as I left, I heard her apologising to him. My blood boiled—why was she the one saying sorry?
I held my tongue, afraid of pushing her away. But her surrender to Daniel grew darker. She gave up her favourite meals, her hobbies, even us—anything he disliked vanished from her life. My Sophie, bright and spirited, was fading into his shadow. I stayed silent, praying she’d wake up on her own.
Then came Edward’s 60th. We booked a cottage in the Lake District, invited family from nearby towns. Of course, we asked Sophie and Daniel. They promised to come, and Edward was over the moon. But three days before, Sophie called: “Mum, we’re not coming.” I was stunned. “Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing, just don’t want to break our diet with unhealthy food.” I pleaded, “Just come for an hour—your father’s waited so long!” But she cut me off. “No, we won’t drive sixty miles for that. I’ll call Dad later.”
Rage choked me. “Can’t you leave him even for a day? Come alone—you’re his daughter!” I shouted. “Can’t. Sorry,” she said, and hung up. Edward went pale when I told him. He said nothing, but his eyes held such pain. I rang Sophie back, pouring out everything: “How can you betray your father like this? You let Daniel dictate everything—your looks, your food, and now missing his anniversary! You’re losing yourself!” She hung up again, and we haven’t spoken since.
Every night now is agony. I see the ghost of the girl she once was. My clever, lively Sophie is now just an echo of her husband. Skipping her father’s birthday wasn’t just cruel—it was a betrayal that’s tearing us apart. How do I reach her? How do I make her see she’s destroying herself for a man who crushes her spirit? If I do nothing, I’ll lose her forever. But if I fight, I might push her further away.
Sitting in the quiet of our flat, I stare at a photo of Sophie—the real Sophie, before Daniel. My heart splits between fury and despair. I want to save her, but how? Maybe she has to realise it herself. Or maybe I must fight, no matter the cost. What do you do when your daughter betrays her family for a husband who steals her soul? I’ve no answers—but this much I know: I won’t give up. Even if it breaks me.
