My daughter has been deeply hurt by betrayal… She only cries and stares at the ground.
I am her father.
I am 73 years old, and I always thought I understood life, that I knew what was right.
But my children thought differently.
I have a son and a daughter. Their mother passed away a few years ago, and I’ve been left alone—waiting for grandchildren, helping, advising, teaching them what I have learned over the years.
I raised my children with respect for traditions. In our family, marriage was more than just a formality. It was a commitment, it was respect for your partner, it was an assurance that in tough times, your partner wouldn’t turn their back on you.
But they laughed at me.
“Dad, that’s so old-fashioned!” my son would say.
“Nobody does that anymore,” my daughter would echo.
A wedding? An official marriage? They saw these as ancient relics.
“We love each other without the paperwork,” my daughter assured me. “A stamp in a passport won’t change anything.”
I watched them and kept silent.
Because I knew—sooner or later, life would put everything in its place.
And it did.
She was cast aside like something unwanted
One early morning, there was a knock at the door.
I opened it…
There stood my daughter.
With a suitcase.
With a baby in a pram.
And a three-year-old girl clinging to the hem of her coat.
I saw her face.
Pale, thin, with tear-stained eyes.
“Dad… can I stay with you for a few days?” Her voice trembled. “George threw me out. He found someone else…”
It took a moment to understand.
Thrown out?
Like a stray dog?
Like something unwanted?
“And the children?!” I exclaimed.
She sobbed.
“He said he’d pay what’s required by law. But he doesn’t need me or them anymore…”
I clenched my fists.
How? How can someone just turn their back on their family, erase their children from their life?
I wanted to go to him immediately, demand answers, but instead, I just hugged my daughter and let her into the house.
We didn’t talk about it for days.
She just sat by the window, eyes downcast, her cheeks wet with tears.
And I looked at her face and understood—she was broken.
A wife? No. A servant in a wealthy home.
She graduated from university with a degree in education. She dreamed of being a teacher, working with children.
But George didn’t want that.
“I don’t need women’s money,” he boasted. “Let her take care of the home! I earn enough, I want a wife, not a worn-out teacher!”
She stayed home, cooked meals, did the laundry, cleaned, and raised their children.
He would come home to hot dinners, a clean house, well-cared-for kids.
She never complained.
She believed he was grateful for all that.
She thought she mattered to him.
But she didn’t.
As soon as he found someone else, she became insignificant.
“I have a new love,” he calmly told me when I called him. “And the kids? Well, I’ll pay what I owe.”
He sent her £200 a month.
Paltry.
Just as the law required.
“It’s enough for me,” he said when I asked him to help more. “I’m not supporting you! That’s all in the past.”
The past.
What had been his family.
What he erased in an instant.
My daughter is broken… How to live on?
A year has passed.
We live together—my daughter, her two little girls, and I.
I’m retired, earning just over £200. She receives a small allowance.
Barely enough for the children.
She doesn’t work—the youngest isn’t even a year old.
But that’s not the main issue.
The main issue is she’s not living.
She just exists.
She doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak unless necessary.
She’s like a broken doll.
Her eyes are empty.
She always looks at the floor.
And I know what she’s thinking.
That if she had listened to me back then, if she had insisted on a legal marriage, everything might have been different.
He might have left.
But he couldn’t have just erased her like that.
He would have had obligations.
She wouldn’t have been left poor, with two children in her arms.
I’m old.
I don’t know how much longer I can help her.
And then what?
How will she live?
How will my granddaughters live?
What will their future hold?
Will there be a man who loves her—a woman with two children?
How could I have thought I’d ever be asking such questions?!
Girls, don’t make her mistake!
Now I am sure of one thing.
Casual relationships are not freedom.
They lead nowhere.
Marriage is not just a piece of paper.
It is protection.
It is responsibility.
I want to speak to all fathers, all mothers, who have daughters.
Don’t let them make the same mistake as my daughter!
Guide them, explain, persuade.
A girl without marriage is left unprotected.
I curse the “trend” that came from the West, this false freedom where a woman is left with nothing.
I see what happened to my daughter.
I see how it’s destroying her.
And I don’t want that for anyone else.
Protect your daughters.
Marriage isn’t a guarantee of eternal love.
But it is a guarantee of protection.
Don’t let your children make the same mistake.
