My world had finally clicked into place. After years of fumbling through life, chasing vague dreams and even vaguer relationships, he appeared. My fiancé. He was everything I hadn’t known I needed—steady, kind, with a laugh that could make my chest ache in the best way. We were planning our wedding, a small, intimate affair, but even “intimate” felt like a colossal undertaking when faced with the reality of costs. Every spreadsheet cell screamed at me: insufficiency.
We dreamed of a little house, too. A starter home, just ours, with a tiny garden where we could grow tomatoes. But the wedding budget, even trimmed to the bone, was a monstrous beast. And a down payment? That felt like scaling Everest in flip-flops. We talked about eloping, just running away, but I’d always envisioned walking down an aisle, even a short one, towards him. Towards our future. My heart, a delicate bird, fluttered with hope and anxiety in equal measure.
One evening, after another late-night argument over catering options and floral arrangements that felt more like financial therapy sessions, I broke. I called my mom. She’s always been my rock, pragmatic and unwavering, but I hated asking for money. It felt like admitting defeat, like I hadn’t truly become the independent adult I so desperately wanted to be. My voice was small, choked with shame, as I explained our predicament.
Alice and Fred met at college in New York. | Source: Pexels
“Mom,” I started, “we’re trying so hard, but… the wedding. And a place of our own. It just feels impossible right now.” I braced myself for the gentle disapproval, the quiet suggestion that maybe we were aiming too high.
Instead, her voice was surprisingly warm. “Oh, honey. Of course. Why didn’t you say something sooner? You know I want you to have the wedding of your dreams. And a home. This is what parents do. Let me look at some things. I’ll see what I can contribute.”
A wave of relief so potent it made my knees weak washed over me. She was going to help. Not just a little, I could tell by her tone, but significantly. My mom, my savior. I thanked her profusely, tears stinging my eyes. She even offered to meet with my fiancé to “go over the budget, get a better picture.” I thought it was sweet, her wanting to be involved. My fiancé, bless his heart, was incredibly grateful, too. He called her immediately to thank her, and later told me how understanding she was. “She just gets it,” he said, holding me close.
Valerie thought she recognized Felix but couldn’t pinpoint him. | Source: Pexels
Over the next few weeks, my mom became incredibly… involved. More than I’d anticipated. She wasn’t just sending money; she was practically a third wheel in our wedding planning. She and my fiancé would meet for coffee, ostensibly to discuss vendor contracts or venue options, but their conversations often drifted to deeper topics. I assumed it was just her being helpful, connecting with her future son-in-law. I was busy with work, overwhelmed, and frankly, relieved someone else was taking some of the burden.
I started noticing things, though. Little things. My mom would laugh a little too long at his jokes, or touch his arm a bit too often when they spoke. They had inside jokes, shared glances. Once, I walked into the kitchen to find them leaning over a spreadsheet, her hand resting on his back, a gesture so casual it felt almost… intimate. My stomach did a little flip, a strange, unpleasant sensation I immediately dismissed. It’s my mom, I told myself. She’s just excited. She loves him because he makes me happy.
My fiancé, too, seemed to enjoy her company immensely. He’d often suggest “popping over to your mom’s to quickly sort out the music list” when I was busy. He even started calling her “Mama.” A term of endearment I hadn’t even heard him use with his own mother. It was endearing, sure, but it also pricked at something inside me, a tiny needle of unease. Why did I feel so… left out?
I went to study in a different country. | Source: Shutterstock
The day the money arrived in our joint account was a revelation. It wasn’t just a contribution; it was a substantial amount. Enough for the wedding, and a significant chunk of a down payment. My mom had truly come through. I hugged her tight, my heart overflowing with gratitude. “Thank you, Mom,” I whispered. “Thank you for everything.” She smiled, a strange, knowing smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. A smile I would replay in my nightmares for years to come.
That evening, my fiancé came over. He usually brought flowers or takeout, but tonight he was empty-handed, his face unusually grim. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice flat. My heart hammered against my ribs. Oh god, what now? Did something go wrong with the venue?
He sat me down on the sofa, not even looking at me. His gaze was fixed somewhere beyond my shoulder, on the wall. “Your mom… she’s been so generous,” he started, his voice barely a whisper. I nodded, confused. “I know. I told her how much we appreciate it.”
I went to visit my granny in her home | Source: Pexels
He finally looked at me, and his eyes were full of a pain I didn’t recognize. Or was it guilt? “There’s something you need to understand about her contribution.” He paused, taking a ragged breath. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, punctuated only by the frantic drumming of my own heart. I could feel my skin prickle, a cold dread seeping into my bones. No, no, please, not now.
“What is it?” I finally managed to croak.
He stood up, walked to the window, his back to me. “She didn’t just give us the money.” He turned, his face a mask of anguish. “She gave it to me. To me, personally.”
My breath hitched. “What are you talking about? It’s for our wedding, our house.”
His shoulders slumped. “No. Not anymore.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “She made me an offer. A proposal.”
My mind raced, trying to make sense of the words. A proposal? What kind of proposal? Business? Investment? My throat felt dry. “What proposal?”
I reached out to Jack to get him to help granny till the borders were reopened | Source: Pexels
He looked at me then, truly looked at me, and his eyes held a terror I finally understood. “She said she’d give me the money—all of it—if I left you. And married her instead.”
The air left my lungs in a single, ragged gasp. My vision blurred. NO. NO, THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE. My mom? My mom? I laughed, a sharp, hysterical sound that tore from my throat. “You’re joking. This is a sick joke, right? Tell me it’s a joke!”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes brimming with tears. “I wish it was. She said… she said she loved me. Said she’d loved me since the first time she met me. Said you were too good for me, that I deserved someone who could truly appreciate me, like her.”
The world tilted on its axis. My mom, my rock, my savior. She had been meeting him, not to plan our future, but to meticulously dismantle it. The inside jokes, the touches, the quiet conversations. It wasn’t about wedding details. IT WAS ABOUT SEDUCTION. ABOUT BETRAYAL.
A boy playing with toy cars | Source: Midjourney
“And… and you accepted?” My voice was a raw whisper, barely audible. I stared at him, desperately searching his face for a lie, for any sign that this wasn’t real.
He took a step towards me, then stopped, his hands clenching into fists. “I… I don’t know what to do. I swear, I didn’t lead her on. But she was so persistent. And the money… God, the money. It’s life-changing.” He looked down at his feet, unable to meet my gaze. “She said she’d guarantee my future, that she’d always put me first. That she’d buy us a house, an even bigger one. No more struggling.”
My legs gave out. I sank onto the sofa, my body trembling uncontrollably. My mom. MY OWN MOTHER. She didn’t contribute to my happiness; she bought a stake in my destruction. She didn’t want to help me build a future; she wanted to steal mine. The generous contribution wasn’t a gift of love; IT WAS A BRIDE PRICE. And my fiancé… my fiancé was considering it. The man who said he loved me, who promised me forever. He was weighing the love we shared against a financial offer from my own mother.
A man arriving home from work | Source: Midjourney
The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the sound of my shattered world crumbling around me. I looked at the man I was supposed to marry, the man who had just admitted my mother had bought him, and felt nothing but a gaping, freezing void.
My own mother had just bought my fiancé out from under me. And he hadn’t said no.
