Our lives were turned upside down not long ago, and the sting of betrayal still pierces my heart. Our only daughter, Eleanor, married in secret and lied to her husband’s 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.
My husband, James, and I are hardworking folk from a small village near York. I work as a nurse at the local clinic, and he’s a mechanic at the timber mill. We’ve never been wealthy, but for Ellie, we would have moved heaven and earth. She was our only child, our pride and joy, and we spoiled her as best we could, giving her everything we had.
From a young age, Ellie dreamed of life in the city. Whenever we visited family in Manchester, she begged to stay, convinced happiness and success awaited her there. We didn’t argue—we only wanted her to be content. When it came time for university, Ellie insisted on studying in Manchester. Her marks weren’t enough for a scholarship, so we sold my parents’ cottage to pay her tuition and rent. We did it for her dreams, though we stayed behind in our village, tending to our modest life.
Ellie left to conquer the city, while we remained in our humble home. In five years of study, she visited only twice. We travelled to her, bringing homemade preserves and what little money we could spare, yet each time, she greeted us with indifference—as though ashamed of our plain clothes, our country accents. She shared a flat with classmates who treated us more warmly than our own daughter did. Her calls grew rare, and we, not wanting to intrude, gave her space, trusting she’d confide in us if something mattered.
But news of her wedding reached us through strangers. A neighbour, whose son studies in Manchester, rang to say she’d seen Ellie in a bridal gown. We couldn’t believe it—hoped it was a mistake, a cruel joke. But the truth cut deeper. How could she do this to us? I dialled her number, choking back tears, and demanded an explanation. Ellie didn’t deny it. With ice in her voice, she spoke of her new husband, then added, “I won’t introduce you.”
The ground seemed to crumble beneath me. “Why?” I whispered. Her answer was a knife to the heart: “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 mends tractors and my mother gives jabs to pigs. You humiliated me enough, bringing jars of pickles to the university. Enough!”
James, hearing this, silently pulled an old photograph of Ellie from his pocket, clenched it in his fist, and stepped out onto the porch. I saw his shoulders tremble, watched him reach for a cigarette though he’d quit a decade ago. As for me… I’m still adrift. Every day, I swallow sedatives, but the ache won’t fade. What did we do to deserve such cruelty from our own child?
We gave her everything—love, money, our dreams. And she cast us aside like a stain on her new “city” life. How do you carry on, knowing your own daughter is ashamed of you? What would you do in our place? How do you survive such betrayal?
