At 25, I was thrilled to marry Daniel, my steady, loving partner. My parents divorced when I was ten after Mom’s affair devastated Dad. I grew up balancing Dad’s calm home and Mom’s unpredictable one. Daniel, proposed in his garden, and we planned a spring wedding, postponed when my grandma needed surgery. Daniel never minded, always putting family first. With a new date four months away, we invited our families to dinner to plan, hoping to unite my fractured one with Daniel’s quiet dad, Thomas.
I knew Mom could stir trouble, but I dreamed of peace. “This might not work,” Daniel said, seeing me stress over decorations. “They’ll try for us,” I replied, hopeful. Dad and his wife, Karen, brought pie, Mom liked my casserole, and Thomas asked about our honeymoon. Mom’s jabs at Karen created tension, but we survived. I hid a secret: I was pregnant, eager to share with Daniel after. Two weeks later, Mom called me at work. “I married Thomas!” she gushed. “We eloped in Vegas after your dinner!”
My jaw dropped. “Daniel’s dad?” I asked. “Yes! So, you two can’t marry—it’s awkward now,” she said coolly. “You’re sabotaging me again,” I yelled, slipping about my pregnancy. “You’re pregnant?” she snapped, crying about her loneliness. She called her affair a “mistake,” ignoring its wreckage. “We’re done,” I said, ending the call. Then my vendors reported cancellations—Mom’s doing. Daniel, enraged, confronted Thomas, who knew nothing and dismissed Mom’s actions. Their fight sealed our choice: we left.
We packed, moved two states away, and told only Dad and my friend Lisa. A courthouse wedding followed, with Dad and Lisa as witnesses. “Any regrets?” Daniel asked in our new home. “Not one,” I said. Later, Dad said Mom and Thomas divorced after four months. She sent a baby quilt, seeking contact. I had it donated. Mom’s voicemails claim she deserves to know my child, but she lost that right when she tried to ruin my wedding. I’m free, building a drama-free life with Daniel and our baby.