Our lives were turned upside down recently, and the pain of this betrayal still tears my heart apart. Our only daughter, Emily, secretly got married and lied to her husband and his family, claiming she was an orphan. My husband and I are alive, well, and never gave her any reason to treat us so cruelly.
My husband, James, and I—hardworking folk from a small village near Newcastle. I’m a nurse at the local clinic, he’s a mechanic at a logging yard. We’re not wealthy, but for Emily, we’d 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.
Emily dreamed of city life from the time she was little. Whenever we visited relatives in Manchester, she’d beg to stay, convinced she’d only find happiness and success there. We never argued—just wanted her to be happy. When it was time for uni, she announced she wanted to study in London. Her grades weren’t good enough for a full scholarship, so we sold my parents’ cottage to pay her tuition and rent. We did it for her dream, even though we stayed behind in the village, scraping by.
Emily left to conquer the city while we stayed in our little home. Over five years of uni, she visited just twice. *We* were the ones making trips, bringing homemade jams and what little money we could spare, but every time, she greeted us with this awful distance, like she was embarrassed—by our worn coats, our country accents. She shared a flat with classmates, and *they* treated us warmer than our own daughter. Her calls became fewer, so we stepped back, giving her space. We thought if something important happened, she’d tell us.
But we found out about her wedding from strangers. A neighbour, whose son studies in London, rang and said he’d seen Emily in a wedding dress. We couldn’t believe it. Prayed it was a mistake, some cruel joke. But the truth was worse. How could she do this? I called her, choking back tears, and demanded answers. Emily didn’t even deny it. In this ice-cold voice, she told me about her husband, then tossed out, *”Don’t expect to meet him.”*
I felt the ground give way. *”Why?”* I whispered. Her answer cut like a knife: *”His family’s well-off, educated people, and you… you wouldn’t fit in. I told them I was an orphan. That I had no parents. And don’t you dare blame me! How could I admit my dad fixes tractors and my mum gives farm animals their jabs? You humiliated me enough when you showed up at uni with jars of chutney. Just leave me alone!”*
James heard every word. He pulled out an old photo of Emily, crumpled it in his fist, and walked out to the porch. I could see his shoulders shaking, watched him reach for a cigarette even though he quit a decade ago. As for me—I still can’t make sense of it. Every day, I take these pills to calm down, but the hurt won’t fade. *Why?* What did we do to deserve this from our own child?
We gave her everything: love, money, our own dreams. And she threw us away like we were some dirty secret in her shiny new city life. How do you go on knowing your own daughter’s ashamed of you? What would you do in our place? How do you survive that kind of betrayal?
