My wedding was never meant to be. I became a mother, and Mark became a husband—to someone else, someone chosen by his mother.
Sometimes everything falls apart in the blink of an eye. What once felt like a life built on love and trust suddenly shatters into silence, heartbreak, and a sense of being completely alone. That’s exactly what happened to me.
I’m Daisy, and this is my story—a story I still struggle to tell without choking up, even after all this time.
Mark and I were together for nearly a year. It felt like the real thing—easy, natural, full of tenderness. He was thoughtful, gentle, and we just clicked. Six months in, I moved into his apartment, and not long after, we submitted our marriage application. The date was set. Both our families seemed thrilled. My mother had picked out my wedding dress months early. And his mother? She welcomed me with open arms, smiling, baking pies, telling me I was exactly the kind of woman her son needed.
Mark had a tough upbringing—his dad left the family when he was just a child, running off with another woman, only to leave her too and vanish. Maybe that’s why Mark was so attached to his mother; her opinion meant the world to him.
Ten days before the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted it to be a surprise and planned to share the news at the ceremony. My father is a bit old-fashioned, and such news before the wedding might have been too much for him. I dreamed of telling him when he proudly walked me down the aisle.
The wedding preparations were in full swing: we picked out the venue decor, discussed the menu, and rehearsed our first dance… and then, a week before our wedding, right at my mom’s birthday party, Mark announced the wedding was off. Because… the child wasn’t his.
Those words were a blow not just to me but to my whole family. My parents didn’t even know I was pregnant. Horrified, I asked what he meant. Mark then showed me a photograph—of me standing at a crosswalk next to an unknown man. It was taken from a distance, with an angle creating the illusion of closeness. Mark insisted it was “proof” of my infidelity.
I tried to explain that I didn’t know the man, that he was probably just a passer-by. But Mark wouldn’t listen. He was deaf to my words, seemingly having already decided to believe the lies.
That night, my mom fell ill—from the shame, the humiliation. From having to call relatives to say the wedding was off. That her daughter was pregnant and the groom had fled, leaving her at the doorstep of the maternity hospital.
I gave birth to my son five months later. I named him Andrew. Despite everything, my parents supported me. I saw how hard it was for them, but they were strong—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. I was too “simple,” not the type to play the game, submit, or be “convenient.” She persuaded her son to call off the engagement and concoct the photo charade. Instead of me, she pushed him towards Alice—the daughter of a prominent family with good connections and money.
Mark married Alice a few months after our upheaval. But life soon put everything in its place. Alice wasn’t who she pretended to be. She immediately put her mother-in-law in her place, took the entire house for herself, and wouldn’t let anyone interfere in their lives. Mark couldn’t take it. He moved to Germany for work and later filed for divorce.
Recently, he started messaging me on social media. Apologizing, saying he’s realized everything and wants to be a part of Andrew’s life. That it doesn’t matter whose son he is, only that he wants to be near.
But I can’t believe him anymore. My trust was shattered. I don’t want my son growing up near someone capable of such betrayal. Someone who ignored his heart and followed his mother’s dictates, who chose lies, comfort, and cowardice.
Yes, I know we’re supposed to forgive. But I don’t want to bring back those who chose to betray me once. I have become strong. I learned to stop waiting. I learned to be a mother without a man’s help. I have Andrew—my reason, my love, my strength.
And Mark… let him live with his conscience. If any of the love he once pledged to me remains, he will understand why I didn’t open the door when he reached out a decade later.
Maybe that will be his real punishment.