My daughter was ashamed of us because we were from the countryside. And she didn’t invite us to her wedding…
My husband and I always lived simply but with pride. Our cottage, the vegetable patch, the cows, the chores—our whole life revolved around one purpose: raising our only daughter to be a good person. For her, we would do anything. The best of everything—always for her. New shoes? Of course. A coat so she wouldn’t feel less than the city girls? Naturally. We’d give the shirts off our backs just so she could have what others had. She grew up clever, lovely—top of her class, dreaming of a life in London. And we were only happy for her—our Emily would have a different fate, not like ours.
Thanks to an old friend, my husband got her into a prestigious university in the capital. On scholarship. We swelled with pride as if we’d done it ourselves. Supported her however we could—with money, with words. Every time she came home was a celebration. We listened to her stories like they were fairy tales—her office job, her sweetheart from a good family—Daniel, the son of a businessman. She glowed when she spoke of him. And all we could think was—when would the wedding be?
But years passed, and no proposal came. One day, my husband couldn’t take it anymore. “Invite Daniel over so we can finally meet him!” She hesitated, made excuses—once, twice. Our suspicions grew. Something wasn’t right. So one day, we decided: we’d go to the city ourselves. Found the address in old letters, bought gifts, dressed in our Sunday best, and set off.
The house was grand—brick and glass, a guardian at the gate. A pleasant man greeted us and led us inside. Luxury like something from the telly. We stood there, unsure where to look, until we were shown into the sitting room. And then I saw it—on the table, a large wedding photo in a silver frame. In a white dress, holding a bouquet—our Emily. My husband went stiff as stone. Me, I felt the floor vanish beneath my feet.
“Why didn’t you come to the wedding, by the way?” Daniel suddenly asked.
My husband and I exchanged glances. What could we say? That we hadn’t even known? Then she appeared. Emily. Her face went pale, her lips trembled. I motioned for her to step outside. At first, she stammered, but then—she gave in.
“I didn’t invite you… because… you’re from the village. I was ashamed. I didn’t want anyone to know my parents were just… country folk.”
Those words cut like knives. Us? Ashamed? After everything we’d given her? After working every day, never resting, just so she’d have a future?
“Did Daniel know?” I whispered, barely breathing.
“Yes. He wanted you there. He even sent an invitation, but I told him… you’d said no.”
So there it was. We were the shame she hid. She didn’t even give us the chance to be there on the most important day of her life. No warning, no explanation—just erased.
We left that same day. No tears, no shouting. Only an emptiness inside. How do you move on when your own child turns away? How do you believe it wasn’t all for nothing? That we didn’t raise a stranger?
Emily hasn’t called since. And we haven’t reached out. Not out of anger—but because we don’t know what to say to the one who betrayed us so easily.
