My wedding was never meant to happen: I gave birth to our child, while Marcos married the woman his mother had chosen for him.
Sometimes, fate collapses overnight—like a fragile house of cards built on love, trust, and hope. That’s exactly what happened to me.
My name is Clara, and though years have passed, I still find it hard to speak about my story without tears.
Marcos and I had been together for nearly a year. He seemed kind, attentive, sincere. Our souls spoke the same language. After six months, I moved in with him; we filed our marriage papers and set a date for the wedding. Our families prepared, my mother bought a dress. Even his mother appeared pleased—welcoming me with pies, saying I was exactly the woman her son needed.
Marcos grew up without a father—his dad left when Marcos was just five. Perhaps that’s why he was so devoted to his mother, trusting her judgment without question.
Ten days before the wedding, I discovered I was pregnant. I planned to reveal it as a surprise on the wedding day itself. I dreamed of my father walking me down the aisle, proud and beaming.
But one week before the ceremony, on my mother’s birthday, Marcos announced he wouldn’t marry me. He claimed the baby wasn’t his.
His words shattered everything. He showed me a photo of me standing next to a man at a crosswalk—a distant shot, making it look like we were close. He called it proof of my betrayal. I tried to explain—I didn’t know that man; he was a stranger passing by. But Marcos wouldn’t listen. His mind was made up.
My mother, devastated by the shame, fell ill. She had to call everyone to cancel the wedding. I was left alone, with a broken heart, leaning on my family.
Five months later, I gave birth to a son—Matteo. Though deeply hurt, my parents stood strong for me and their grandson.
Later, I learned the truth: Marcos’s mother never accepted me. She saw me as too simple, unsuitable, unwelcome. She orchestrated the scheme with the photo, convincing her son to leave me. In her place, she introduced him to Ines—daughter of wealthy, influential parents, ambitious and polished.
Within months of our breakup, Marcos married Ines. But their marriage held no happiness: Ines quickly asserted control, kept the mother-in-law at bay, seized the house, and dominated Marcos. He couldn’t endure it—he moved to Germany and soon filed for divorce.
Recently, Marcos reached out on social media. He apologized, said he’d understood everything, and wanted to see Matteo. He claimed it didn’t matter whose son Matteo was, only that he could be close.
But I no longer believe him. My trust in him burned away the day he chose lies and obedience over truth and love. I refuse to let my son grow up beside someone who couldn’t stand up for his own family.
Forgiveness is important. But I have learned to be strong. To wait for nothing. To be a mother without a man’s support.
I have Matteo—my light, my strength, my purpose. Marcos can live with what he’s done. If there’s still a shred of the love he once spoke of in his heart, he’ll understand why I didn’t open the door when he knocked—ten years later.
Perhaps that will be his true punishment.