My Daughter Was Ashamed of Us and Did Not Invite Us to Her Wedding
I decided to put into words the ache that sits heavy in my chest. Our only child felt embarrassed about us because we come from the countryside, and she didnt even ask us to attend her wedding.
My husband and I have always lived simply, yet with pride. Our home, the garden, the cows, the daily chores everything revolved around one purpose: raising our daughter to become a person of worth. For Inês, we were ready to sacrifice anything. The best was always reserved for her. New shoes? Of course. A coat so she wouldnt look out of place among the city girls? Absolutely. We scraped together the little we had so she would never lack anything. She grew up pretty, clever, with good grades, dreaming of life in the city. We rejoiced, convinced that Inês would have a destiny different from ours.
Thanks to a few acquaintances, my husband managed to secure her a place at a prestigious public university in Lisbon. We were proud as if the achievement were our own. We supported her in every way we couldfinancially and with encouragement. Each visit home turned into a celebration. We listened to her stories like fairytales: a job in an office, a boyfriend from a wealthy familyRodrigo, the son of a businessman. She lit up when she spoke of him, and we kept hoping the wedding would arrive soon.
But the years slipped by, and no official invitation ever came. One day my husband could no longer hold his frustration: Invite Rodrigo over, at least let us meet him! Inês hesitated, made up work excuses over and over. Our suspicions grew; something didnt add up. Finally we decided to go to Lisbon ourselves. We found an old piece of paper with her address, bought some sweets, dressed in the best clothes we owned, and set off.
Her apartment was a showcase of luxurystone, glass, security systems. A friendly man greeted us and led us inside. The wealth looked like a film set. We stood uncertain, eyes scanning the rooms, until we were shown the living area. There, on a table, a large framed wedding photograph caught my gaze. In white, holding a bouquet, stood our Inês. My husband froze as if turned to stone, and I felt the floor slip away beneath me.
Why didnt you come to the wedding? Rodrigo asked abruptly.
We exchanged looks. What could we say? That we didnt even know it existed? At that moment Inês entered, her face pale, lips trembling. I gestured for her to step aside so we could speak privately. She tried to stall, then finally confessed:
I didnt invite you because youre from the countryside. I was ashamed. I didnt want anyone to know my parents are simple villagers.
Those words pierced my heart like a knife. How could she think we were something to be embarrassed about after everything we gave her, after all the endless labor we endured for her future?
And Rodrigo? I asked, barely able to breathe. Did he know?
Yes. He wanted you there. He even sent an invitation, but I told him you had declined.
Thus, we became the embarrassment she tried to hide. She never gave us a chance to be part of the most important day of her life, never explained, just erased us.
We left that same day, without tears or shouting, only a hollow emptiness inside. How do you move forward when your own blood turns its back on you? How can you believe any of this was not in vain, that we didnt raise a stranger?
Since then Inês never calls, and we have kept silentnot out of spite but bitterness, because we simply dont know what to say to someone who betrayed us so easily.
