My daughter has broken my heart. I believed she knew how to be grateful, that at 25, she could see the truth and distinguish kindness from indifference. But her recent actions proved otherwise — bitterly and painfully otherwise. She didn’t invite her stepfather, my husband Richard, who raised her from the age of nine, to her wedding. Yet she included her biological father, who couldn’t have cared less about her over these years. After such a betrayal, I have no desire to attend this wedding.
My divorce from my first husband, John, was unavoidable, like a storm after a calm. The last four years of our marriage relied solely on my willpower, and my mother-in-law’s pleas to bear with her errant son. But there’s a limit to everything, and the straw that broke the camel’s back was when our daughter, Sophie, turned seven. Her father always put the family last. He only ever engaged with her when he was in high spirits—up until being irresponsibly drunk. He would disappear for days and, upon returning, assert his point with fists, leaving bruises not only on my skin but on my heart.
I learned about his mistress, and it was the final straw. The mere thought that another woman fell for this “treasure” was sobering. I filed for divorce without looking back. John didn’t even try to save the family—he packed his things, smashed the hallway mirror to pieces, and left with his head held high, as if he were a hero in some drama. My mother-in-law, who previously wept over the fate of her “poor boy”, turned into a true harpy. She blamed me for everything and filled Sophie’s mind with nonsense about how I drove out her “loving daddy”, even though he had already erased us from his life.
Sophie always gravitated to her father more than me. I was strict — I disciplined, educated, and made her do her homework. He, on the other hand, would show up infrequently, in good spirits, with cheap sweets and empty promises. When he came home in a bad mood, I’d protect Sophie from his rage, shielding her with my own body. Therefore, in her mind, he became a fairytale knight, while I was the eternal warden. Explaining the truth to her was futile: her grandmother poisoned her thoughts, and Sophie longed for her “kind dad”, who in reality wasn’t worth a penny. I gritted my teeth and continued to fight for her. A year later, my mother-in-law passed away, easing the pressure on Sophie, but she still idealized her father and blamed me for his absence.
When Sophie was nine, I met Richard in our small town near Lancaster. I liked him at once—kind, dependable, with a warm smile. I fell in love, and he reciprocated. However, I feared losing him, so I honestly warned him: I have a daughter who might not accept him, and it’s going to be tough. Richard didn’t back down. He proposed, knowing full well what lay ahead. Challenges arose immediately: Sophie threw tantrums, was rude, and tested him constantly. Many would have walked away — who wants to endure insults and arguments? But he remained. In sixteen years, he raised his voice at her only twice—and both times were justified. He took her to competitions, picked her up from parties, bought her clothes, and never once complained. He even paid for her university education, not her so-called biological father.
During her high school years, Sophie became more indifferent towards him. She didn’t attack him, but she also never showed gratitude. I hoped she would eventually see what a rare person Richard was—not every stepfather cares so deeply for someone else’s child. I knew she occasionally saw John. I stayed out of their business, but every birthday tore at my heart: she waited for his call until midnight, and he never rang. Yet, year after year, she waited as if blind to reality.
After school, she went to university in another city, and upon returning, moved in with her boyfriend she’d been dating since her third year. Then she announced the wedding. I was confident Richard would be part of it, standing by our side. But she erased him from the guest list. He tried to hide his hurt, but I saw the light dim in his eyes. Sophie bluntly told me:
“My father will be at the wedding. How do you imagine having him and Richard together? Do you want a circus?”
Outraged, I retorted:
“You invited the father who abandoned you and dismissed the man who raised you? You’re ungrateful! I won’t attend your wedding. From now on, seek everything you need from your ‘dad’.”
She tried to object, but I had already slammed the door.
At home, Richard urged me to reconsider, saying she is our only daughter, and it’s her special day. But I can’t. She made it clear what matters to her. Richard and I fought for her for years, and she still idolizes the one who left her. So be it. I’m washing my hands of this pain and disappointment.
