My wedding was never meant to be: I gave birth to a son, while Mark married the woman his mother chose for him.
Sometimes, fate crumbles all at once—like a house of cards built with hope, love, and faith in a better future. Then, it all turns into betrayal, pain, and silent loneliness. That’s what happened to me.
My name is Daria, and I’m ready to share my story, which, even after all these years, still brings tears to my eyes.
Mark and I had been together for almost a year. It was true love—easy, warm, sincere. He was caring, attentive, and it seemed like we spoke the same language. After six months of dating, I moved in with him, and soon we applied for a marriage license. The wedding day was set, and our parents joyfully prepared. My mum even ordered a dress for herself in advance. It seemed his mother was happy about our union too. She welcomed me with a smile, brought homemade pies, and said I was “just what her son needed.”
Mark grew up in challenging circumstances—his father left the family when he was very young, for another woman, divorced again, and vanished. Perhaps that’s why Mark was so attached to his mother; her opinion meant everything to him.
Ten days before the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise him and reveal the news on the big day. My father has old-fashioned values, and such news before marriage might have been a shock for him. I dreamed of telling him when he proudly walked me down the aisle.
Wedding preparations were in full swing: we were choosing decorations, discussing the menu, rehearsing the first dance… Then suddenly, a week before the wedding, at my mum’s birthday celebration, Mark announced there would be no wedding. Because… I wasn’t carrying his child.
Those words hit hard not only for me but for my entire family. My parents didn’t even know I was pregnant. Horrified, I asked what he meant. Then Mark showed me a photograph—me standing on a pedestrian crossing with an unfamiliar man. It was taken from a distance, at an angle that created an illusion of closeness. He insisted it was “proof” of my betrayal.
I tried to explain that I didn’t know this man, that he was probably just a passerby. But Mark wouldn’t listen. He was deaf to my words, as if he had already decided to believe a lie.
That night, my mother took ill—from shame, from humiliation. She had to call family and friends to tell them the wedding was off. That her daughter was pregnant, and the groom had fled, leaving her at the maternity hospital door.
I gave birth to a son five months later. I named him Andrew. Despite everything, my parents supported me. Although I saw how hard it was for them. They held on with all their strength—for me and my baby.
I tried not to think about Mark. But later, I learned the truth. His mother never wanted me in their family. Too “ordinary,” not someone who could play along, submit, be “convenient.” She persuaded her son to break off the engagement and staged the photo charade. Instead of me, she pushed him towards Agnes—a daughter from an influential family, well-connected and wealthy.
Mark married Agnes a couple of months after our drama. But life quickly sorted things out. Agnes was not what she appeared to be. She immediately put her mother-in-law in her place, took over the entire house, and wouldn’t let anyone interfere in their affairs. Mark couldn’t endure it. He moved to work in Germany and later filed for divorce.
Recently, he started contacting me. Through social media. Apologizing, saying he’s realized everything, that he wants to be in Andrew’s life. That it doesn’t matter whose son he is, as long as he’s nearby.
But I no longer believe. My trust has burned to ashes. I don’t want my son growing up around someone capable of such betrayal. Someone who didn’t listen to his heart but followed his mother’s orders. Who chose lies, convenience, cowardice.
Yes, I know forgiveness is important. But I don’t want to bring back those who once chose to betray me. I’ve learned to be strong. Learned not to wait. Learned to be a mother without a man’s help. I have Andrew—my meaning, my love, my strength.
And Mark… let him live with his conscience. If he has even a drop of the love he once promised me, he’ll understand why I didn’t open the door when he came knocking ten years later.
Perhaps that will be his true punishment.
