**Lost Daughter: Betrayal for a Husband’s Sake**
My daughter, once so close and dear, has become a stranger. Here in our little town by the Thames, I, Eleanor, watch in pain as she dissolves into her husband, losing herself. Her blind obedience to his will has shattered my heart, and her refusal to come to her father’s anniversary was the last straw. Now, I’m left with an agonising question: how do I save my daughter from herself, or is it already too late?
Cynthia, our only child, was always our pride. My husband, William, and I doted on her, granting her every wish. She graduated brilliantly from university, and as a gift, we sent her on a holiday to Greece. There, she met Maxwell, a man from Manchester. I never trusted big cities and their people—too arrogant, too pushy. But Maxwell seemed serious: he’d opened a sports shop in our town and worked hard. We hoped Cynthia would be happy with him.
After the wedding, they moved into the flat William had inherited from his mother. At first, all seemed well. Maxwell was passionate about fitness, spending hours at the gym, and Cynthia, at least outwardly, shared his interests. But soon, I noticed my girl changing. She asked me not to call in the evenings: *Mum, Maxwell and I want time alone after work to talk.* I agreed, thinking it was her choice—only to later learn it was his demand. She visited us only in the afternoons, never with him, because evenings belonged to him alone.
Then I saw how thin she’d become—alarmingly so. *Cynthia, what’s happened? You look exhausted!* I pressed. *We’ve switched to clean eating,* she murmured. *Maxwell wants us both on the same diet.* Horror struck me. *You’ll want children one day! Why starve yourself? Eat properly!* But she took offence and shut down. Her face grew gaunt, her eyes dull, and I felt her slipping away.
Soon, Cynthia arrived with plumped lips and thick, unnatural brows. *Maxwell likes it*, she said, avoiding my gaze. She looked like a stranger—a doll—but stayed silent when I tried to discuss it. For her birthday, I gave her a slow cooker, hoping to ease her life. She thanked me but asked me to keep it at ours. A week later, I took it to her house. Maxwell scoffed. *What’s this rubbish? Trying to make her lazy? We don’t need it!* Cynthia pleaded, *Mum, please take it back—he’ll be furious.* As I left, I heard her apologising to him. My blood boiled. Why was *she* saying sorry?
I tried not to interfere, fearing I’d push her away. But her submission grew worse. She abandoned her favourite foods, hobbies, even us—anything Maxwell disliked vanished from her life. My bright, independent Cynthia was fading, disappearing into his shadow. Still, I stayed quiet, hoping she’d wake up on her own.
Then came William’s 60th. We rented a cottage, invited family from nearby towns—of course, Cynthia and Maxwell too. They promised to come, and William was overjoyed. But three days before, Cynthia called: *Mum, we won’t make it.* I was stunned. *Why? What’s wrong?* *Nothing—we just don’t want to break our diet with unhealthy food.* I begged. *Come just for an hour—your father misses you!* She cut in, *No, we won’t drive sixty miles for that. I’ll call Dad, and the gift can wait.*
The betrayal choked me. *Can’t you leave him for one day? Come alone—you’re our daughter!* I cried. *Can’t. Sorry*, she said, hanging up. William went pale, eyes full of hurt, but stayed silent. I rang her back, furious. *How could you betray your father like this? You obey Maxwell in everything—your lips, your diet, now this! You’re losing yourself!* She slammed the phone down. We haven’t spoken since.
Every night is agony. I see the ghost of the girl she once was. My clever, joyful Cynthia is now her husband’s shadow, bending to his whims. Skipping her father’s anniversary wasn’t just cruel—it was a betrayal that tore our family apart. How do I reach her? How make her see she’s erasing herself for a man who crushes her will? If I don’t act, I may lose her forever. If I do, she might turn away completely.
Sitting in the quiet of our home, I stare at a photo of Cynthia—before Maxwell. My heart splits between rage and despair. I want to save her, but how? Should I wait for her to wake up? Or fight for her, risking everything? What do you do when your daughter betrays her family for a husband stealing her soul? No answers come. But this I know: I won’t give up, even if it breaks me.
