Our daughter disowned us, calling herself an orphan in front of her fiancé.
Recently, our lives were turned upside down, and the pain of this betrayal still tears at my heart. Our only daughter, Emily, secretly got married, lying to her husband and his family, claiming she was an orphan. My husband and I are alive and well, and we never gave her reason to treat us so cruelly.
We, my husband James and I, are hardworking folk from a small village near Yorkshire. I work as a nurse in the local clinic, and he’s a mechanic at a logging yard. We’re far from wealthy, but for Emily, we would have moved heaven and earth. She was our only child, our pride, and we spoiled her as best we could, giving her everything we had.
From childhood, Emily dreamed of city life. Whenever we visited family in Manchester, she begged to stay there. To her, only there could she find happiness and success. We didn’t argue—we just wanted her to be happy. When it was time for university, Emily insisted on studying in Manchester. Her grades weren’t enough for a scholarship, so we sold my parents’ cottage to pay her tuition and a rented flat. We did it for her dreams, though we remained in the village, scraping by.
Emily left to conquer the city, and we stayed behind. In five years of study, she visited us only twice. We went to her, bringing homemade preserves, money, but each time she greeted us with coldness. As if she was ashamed—of our simple clothes, our country accents. She shared a flat with classmates who treated us warmer than our own daughter. Her calls grew fewer, and we, not wanting to push, gave her space. We thought if something important happened, she’d tell us.
But we learned of her wedding from strangers. A neighbour, whose son studied in Manchester, called and said she’d seen Emily in a wedding dress. We couldn’t believe it. We hoped it was a mistake, a cruel joke. But the truth was worse. How could our daughter do this? I dialled her number, choking back tears, and demanded an explanation. Emily didn’t deny it. In a flat voice, she spoke of her husband, then added, “I won’t be introducing you.”
I felt the ground drop beneath me. “Why?” I whispered. Her answer was a dagger: “His parents are wealthy, educated people, and you… You wouldn’t fit in. I told them I was an orphan, that I had no family. And don’t you dare blame me! I couldn’t admit my father fixes tractors and my mother gives pigs their shots. You embarrassed me enough, bringing jars of pickles to campus. Enough!”
James, hearing this, silently pulled an old photo of Emily from his pocket, crumpled it in his fist, and stepped outside. I watched his shoulders tremble as he reached for a cigarette—even though he quit ten years ago. As for me… I still can’t make sense of it. Every day I swallow pills to calm myself, but the pain won’t fade. Why? What did we do to deserve this from our own child?
We gave her everything: love, money, dreams. And she cast us aside like a stain on her new, “polished” life. How do you go on, knowing your daughter is ashamed of you? What would you do in our place? How do you survive such betrayal?
