My Broken Wedding: I Gave Birth to a Son, and James Married His Mothers Choice
My wedding never happened. I gave birth to a boy, and James married the woman his mother picked for him.
Sometimes, fate crumbles like a house of cardsbuilt on hope, love, and faith in the futureonly to collapse into betrayal, pain, and quiet loneliness. Thats what happened to me.
My name is Emily, and even now, years later, I cant tell this story without tears.
James and I had been together for nearly a year. Ours was a real lovesimple, warm, sincere. He was thoughtful, present, and we always understood each other. After six months, I moved in with him, and soon we set a wedding date. Our families were overjoyedmy mother had even ordered her dress early. His mum, Margaret, seemed happy too. Shed smile when I visited, bringing homemade pies, saying I was “just right” for her son.
James had a tough childhood. His dad left when he was young, ran off with another woman, only to divorce again and vanish. Maybe thats why James clung to his motherher opinion meant everything.
Ten days before the wedding, I found out I was pregnant. I planned to announce it at the ceremony. My dad, old-fashioned, wouldve been upset if hed known before we were married. I dreamed of telling him as he proudly walked me down the aisle.
Everything was in full swingchoosing decorations, finalising the menu, practising our first dance. Then, a week before the wedding, at my mothers birthday, James suddenly called it off. Because, he claimed, the baby wasnt his.
The blow was devastatingnot just for me, but my whole family. My parents didnt even know I was expecting. Stunned, I asked what he meant. He showed me a photo: me at a zebra crossing next to a stranger. Taken from a distance, the angle made it look intimate. He swore it was “proof” Id cheated.
I begged him to listenI didnt know that man, it was just some passerby. But James wouldnt hear it. His mind was made up.
That night, my mother was crushedhumiliated. We had to tell everyone: the wedding was off, their daughter was pregnant, and the groom had vanished, leaving me to face motherhood alone.
Five months later, I had a son. I named him Oliver. My parents stood by me, though I saw how much it hurt them. They stayed strongfor me and my boy.
I tried to forget James. But later, I learned the truth. His mother never wanted me. Too “ordinary,” not obedient or “proper” enough. She convinced him to end it and staged that photo. In my place, she pushed him toward Charlottea girl from a well-off family with connections and money.
James married Charlotte months after our disaster. But life has a way of balancing things. Charlotte wasnt what she seemed. She clashed with Margaret, took over the house, and shut everyone out. James couldnt take it. He moved to Germany for work, then filed for divorce.
Lately, hes messaged me online. Apologising. Saying he understands now, that he wants to know Oliver. “It doesnt matter whose son he is,” he says, “as long as hes mine.”
But I dont believe him. My trust burned to ashes. I wont let my boy grow up around a man who chose betrayalwho listened to his mother instead of his heart, who lied for convenience and cowardice.
Yes, they say forgive. But I wont let those who betrayed me back in. Ive learned to be strong. To not wait. To be a mother without a mans help. Oliver is my purpose, my love, my strength.
As for James? Let him live with his guilt. If any love remains from what we had, hell understand why I didnt open the door when he knocked after ten years.
Maybe thats punishment enough.
