Iris was so delighted. Her daughter Eliza was all set to get married to the love of her life, Daniel. So Iris shuffled toward her future son-in-law to give him her late husband’s diamond cufflinks.
But Daniel was walking too fast, and Iris had to race her achy knees. She watched him approach Melissa, one of the bridesmaids, and whisper something to her.
Then, they both walked away from the venue toward the back of the restaurant. Curious, Iris tiptoed behind them, only to see them slipping into a bathroom together…
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Iris slightly opened the door, and her heart sank when she peered inside.
“I can’t wait anymore, babe,” Daniel tugged at Mellissa’s waist, pulling her closer.
“Not now, darling,” Melissa crooned. “If someone finds out, our plans will be ruined. Patience, babe…you just need to stay married for a little. Think of the big payday we’ll get when you divorce your boring wife. Millions of dollars worth…but now control yourself!”
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Iris leaned over and glimpsed at Daniel and Melissa on the bathroom mirror. They were locked in each others’ arms, kissing passionately.
“Not now…” Melissa muttered. “We have to get back.”
“Not until you promise to meet me at my house later,” Daniel said. “We carry on like we always have…after Eliza’s gone to work!”
Melissa giggled. Unable to see or take it anymore, Iris hurried away to warn her daughter.
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Iris hurried to the dining room, but Eliza was not there. Suddenly, the MC called for everyone’s attention.
“Before we proceed to the wedding hall, the bride has a special gift for the groom,” he announced.
Eliza appeared on the stage and took the mic from the MC.
“…I’ve waited for a long time to find a real love…and I want to dedicate this to him!”
As the band behind Eliza started playing the chords, she sang a melodious love song. A hush fell over the room as Eliza finished singing.
The guests applauded, and Daniel rushed onto the stage and hugged her. Iris knew it would crush her daughter’s heart when she learned the truth about Daniel’s scheming.
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The MC interrupted the bustling wedding scene. “And now… love birds, your first dance!”
Iris weaved through the crowd and approached her daughter. “Eliza, I have to tell you something…it’s about Daniel.”
“Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Sweetie, he is…Can we talk privately?”
“Daniel’s waiting for me. We’ll talk after the first dance, okay?”
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Melissa sidled around Iris and approached the bride. “Daniel’s waiting for you in the dance hall.”
Eliza was so gorgeous in her wedding dress as she followed Melissa to the door. Iris was shattered, and she did not have the courage to break her daughter’s heart on her big day.
So she watched in agony as the wedding proceeded. There was nothing she could do to bring Daniel and Melissa’s affair to light. There was only one way to expose him: Iris had to ensure Eliza caught him red-handed.
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Eliza and Daniel drove Iris to the airport the following Monday to catch an early flight back home. Iris was disgusted to watch Daniel acting so lovey-dovey with Eliza.
Iris hugged Eliza goodbye before heading to the boarding lounge. Around 15 minutes later, she called a cab and returned to Eliza’s house.
Iris knew Melissa and Daniel would meet after Eliza went to work, and she decided to catch them.
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When Iris arrived at Eliza’s house, she saw Melissa’s car parked in the driveway. She quickly called Eliza.
“Sweetie, my flight was canceled,” Iris told her daughter. “I hailed a taxi to your place…I’m feeling dizzy…can you meet me there?”
“Oh, God, Mom! I’m busy…but don’t worry. I’ll call Daniel and ask him, alright?”
“No, don’t call him. I want you to come here…please, it’s important.”
Eliza sighed. “Fine…I’m coming.”
Iris hung up and crept up to the window.
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She peered through the glass pane and saw nothing strange at first. Then, the door swung open as Daniel and Melissa entered the room, kissing each other.
He set her down, and the pair started making out on the couch.
Iris glanced at the street, but there was still no sign of Eliza. She peeked through the window and quickly looked away in disgust, seeing how things inside had heated up.
Iris stood by the curb, praying for her daughter to be there soon. Five minutes later, Eliza pulled up.
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“Mom, are you okay?” Eliza approached Iris.
“No, I’m not. Your husband and that Melissa. They’re in there…fooling around.”
“WHAT?” Eliza was shocked.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I overheard them on your wedding day…”
“You overheard what?”
“They are having an affair…and have planned to swindle you and take your money when Daniel leaves you,” Iris replied as Eliza froze.
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“Daniel and Melissa?” Eliza’s breath shuddered. “He’s always been nice to me…how did I not have a clue about this affair?”
“They’re in there right now…” Iris pointed to the door. “Why don’t you go see with your own eyes?”
Eliza nodded curtly and wiped her tears. She angrily marched to the front door, and Iris was right behind her.
They tiptoed to the living room. The sound of Daniel and Melissa giggling behind the couch echoed in the hallway.
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“What the hell’s going on here?” she yelled.
Iris rushed in but was caught off-guard by the sight before her shocked eyes. It didn’t make any sense.
Just mere minutes ago, when she looked through the window, Daniel and Melissa were engrossed in their intimate moment. But now, they were casually seated on the sofa like nothing had happened.
“Eliza? What do you mean?” Daniel replied. “Melissa and I were discussing work…Didn’t I tell you I’d be working from home this week?”
“You LIAR!” Iris pointed at Daniel. “I saw the both of you doing ‘things’ on that sofa…you must’ve seen us coming and gotten dressed.”
“Gotten dressed?” Melissa frowned. “Jesus…you think Daniel and I are having…an affair?”
“Just shut up,” Eliza snapped. “My mother saw you two in the bathroom on our wedding day…and now, in our house. You were so insistent on sharing our assets and money when we got married. And now I know why…Daniel, you married me for my money.’
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“That’s not true!” Daniel denied the allegation. “Being married means sharing everything. What’s mine is yours, Eliza. I’m sorry your mother thinks so cheap of me…but she’s mistaken. Melissa and I are friends and business partners. I thought you… trusted me.”
“I did, Daniel. But why would my Mom lie to me? I just…I just don’t understand.”
“Eliza, I love you…and I can prove it,” Daniel took Eliza’s hand.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bunch of keys.
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“See this?” He dropped the keys into Eliza’s palm. “I made the final payment for our new home yesterday. Melissa was here to help me with an idea to surprise you. But everything’s ruined now.”
“He’s lying, Eliza,” Iris insisted as she watched Eliza lift the keys with her trembling fingers.
But Eliza didn’t seem to hear. “You were going to surprise me?” she whispered.
“Yes! I wanted to drive you there in a blindfold…walk you onto the lawn…and show you our dream home. But I guess I’ll be staying there alone now. There’s no point in sharing my life with a woman who doesn’t trust me.”
Daniel snatched the keys from Eliza and stormed to their bedroom.
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“Wait, you can’t just leave me like this,” Eliza ran after Daniel. “I don’t doubt you…but I know Mom would never tell me something like this unless it’s true.”
Daniel stopped and turned around. “I don’t know what your Mom saw and heard. I’ve offered you proof. If you still don’t believe me, I don’t think this marriage can last.”
“I trust you…that’s why it hurts so much to think of you cheating on me. I love you, Daniel…”
“I love you too,” Daniel said. “I don’t understand what went wrong to make it easy for you to believe such awful things about me. If you truly believe that I’ve been unfaithful to you, tell me now. I’ll pack my things and leave you…forever.”
“I trust you! Please forgive me,” Eliza hugged Daniel as Iris couldn’t believe it.
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Iris’s heart raced in her chest. It was all too much for her. Her knees gave way as a dull pain spread through her chest. The last thing Iris heard was the piercing shrill of ambulance sirens.
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Iris was rushed to the hospital, where the doctors informed her she’d had a heart attack.
“You scared me, Mom…I’m glad you’re okay,” Eliza visited Iris and hugged her.
“I’ll feel a lot better if you tell me that you’ve kicked that fraudster and his mistress out.”
Eliza rolled her eyes. “Mom, please don’t talk about my husband like that. You’ve mistaken things about him…”
“Wake up, Eliza. He’s just using you. All that nonsense about buying a house was his way of guilt-tripping you into staying.”
“But it proves he loves me. Why would he want me to stay if he was only after my money?”
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“Why don’t you check your prenup, Eliza?” Iris snapped. “Good Lord, how do I make you understand that your husband is a gold-digger?”
“Mom, please stop this. Let’s not assume things and punish Daniel for something he’s never done.”
“Fine then,” Iris said. “If you don’t want to open your eyes and see the reality, then things are going to be different from now on.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
Iris reached for her phone and dialed a number.
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“Hello, Mr. Simms…I’m calling you about my will,” Iris told her lawyer. “I want to make an urgent change. I’ve decided to leave all my wealth to charity. My daughter will not inherit a dime. And I want you to freeze her bank account. Yes…immediately. Thank you.”
“What?” Eliza stood shocked. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza, but you left me with no choice. I don’t want our family’s hard-earned money being palmed to a gold-digger using you.”
“Fine!” Eliza yelled. “If you’re cutting me off your will, so be it. I don’t want to see you again.”
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The following few weeks were the most challenging days for Iris. She underwent heart surgery and was released from the hospital after a long recovery period.
She felt very lonely and even tried calling Eliza. But her daughter never answered, and Iris was heartbroken. She called her every day and sent her text messages.
Iris wasn’t surprised when there was no reply. But one day, her doorbell rang. When Iris opened the door, she froze in disbelief.
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“Eliza?!” Iris teared up as a wave of emotions washed over her. “Sweetie…”
Iris stopped talking when Eliza looked at her with red, puffy eyes.
“It’s Daniel, isn’t it?” She wrapped her arms around Eliza’s shoulders and led her inside.
“I’m sorry, Mom…I should’ve listened to you,” Eliza sobbed. “You were right!”
Iris hugged Eliza. She hated seeing her daughter so heartbroken but was glad she was finally free from that money-grubber, Daniel.
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Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
Ally bursts into the church and interrupts the bride, who is about to finish saying her wedding vow. Ally introduces herself as the groom’s ex-girlfriend and accuses him of being a con man.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.
My Stepdad Said He Doesn’t Eat the Same Meal Twice and That My Mom Should Cook Fresh Food Every Day — So I Gave Him a Wake-up Call
My stepdad demanded a fresh-cooked meal every day, like it was the 1950s. When my mom tried reheating leftover food, he tossed it and said real wives cook daily. I watched her shrink under the man who’d forgotten what gratitude looked like. So I served him a taste of humility.
After Dad died six years ago, my mom, Colleen, moved through life like a ghost. They’d been college sweethearts, married for 32 golden years with the kind of love that doesn’t need spotlights. He’d bring her coffee every morning and kiss her temple before leaving for work. She’d fold his socks the way he liked—paired and rolled, never bunched.
A sad older woman | Source: Pexels
I called her every day from two states away, but phone calls couldn’t fill the empty chair at her dinner table.
“I’m fine, sweetie,” she’d say, but I could hear the hollowness in her voice.
Then came Raymond. He worked with Mom at the community college. He was an accounting professor with slicked-back hair and cologne you could smell before he entered a room. He started bringing her lunch and offered to fix things around the house.
I was relieved someone was there, checking in on her when I couldn’t.
A relieved and delighted older woman leaning on a man’s shoulder | Source: Pexels
“He makes me laugh again, Matty,” Mom told me over the phone. “Do you know how long it’s been since I really laughed?”
Raymond always lingered and he somehow landed a place in her heart. The proposal came fast, and the wedding even faster. A beach ceremony with just 20 people… sand between toes. The whole thing looked sweet in pictures.
Mom wore a simple white dress, and Raymond looked genuinely happy. I pushed down my reservations and hugged them both.
A newlywed senior couple looking happy | Source: Pexels
“Take care of her,” I whispered to him.
“Always,” he promised, patting my back a little too hard. “Your mom deserves the world.”
I wanted to believe him. Maybe that’s why I ignored the way he interrupted her during the reception, or how he complained about the cake being too sweet.
“Marriage is about compromise,” Mom said when I mentioned it later. “We’re both adjusting.”
I was genuinely glad she’d found someone again. Someone steady. Someone who loved her. But God, I was wrong… so, painfully wrong.
A happily married couple posing for a photo | Source: Pexels
Six months later, I showed up at their doorstep with a basket of fresh muffins and enough clothes for a week-long visit. Mom hugged me tight, her frame smaller than I remembered.
“You’ve lost weight,” I said, studying her face.
She waved me off. “Just trying to keep up with Raymond. He’s very particular about what he eats.”
We settled in the kitchen with tea. Mom was in the middle of telling me about her garden when she suddenly pressed her fingers to her temple.
“Mom, are you alright?”
“Just a little headache, dear,” she said, wincing. “I’ve had this cold for a week now. Nothing serious.”
Her complexion was pale and her eyes were underlined with shadows. This wasn’t just a cold.
A shaken young woman | Source: Pexels
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Raymond says it’s just allergies. I’ll be fine after I rest.” She stood up and opened the refrigerator. “I made lasagna yesterday. It’s really good… your grandma’s recipe.”
She was pulling the container out when Raymond walked in. He was wearing a golf shirt, his face flushed from being outside.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked, not bothering to greet me.
“I thought we’d have the leftover lasagna. I’m not feeling like cooking something new tonight.”
Raymond’s expression darkened. “Leftovers? Again?”
Lasagna in a glass tray | Source: Pexels
“It’s still good, Ray. I just don’t have the energy—”
The crash made me jump. Raymond swiped the container from her hands, sending it tumbling to the floor. Pasta, sauce, and cheese splattered across the tile.
“I’ve told you a hundred times. I DON’T eat the same meal TWICE. Am I a man or a pig? A real wife cooks fresh food for her husband every day. That’s your job now. Is that so hard to understand?”
Mom was already on her knees, picking up the mess. “I’m sorry. You’re… you’re right. I’ll make something else.”
I froze. In the six years since Dad died, I’d worried about Mom being lonely and sad… but never THIS. Never afraid. Never controlled.
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I dropped down beside her. “Mom, stop. Let me help.”
Up close, I could see her hands shaking. “Does this happen often?”
Her silence told me everything.
“You can help by making something fresh, Matilda,” Raymond said, walking away. “I’ll be in my study.”
***
That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling fan in the guest room. The image of Mom on her knees kept playing on repeat. I thought about calling the police, but what would I say? My stepdad broke a dish? Made my mother cry?
No. This required something else entirely.
A disheartened woman sitting on her bed | Source: Pexels
I found Mom in the kitchen at dawn, already mixing pancake batter.
“Let me cook today,” I said, taking the bowl from her hands.
She looked relieved. “Are you sure, honey? Raymond likes his breakfast at seven sharp.”
“I’m positive. You should rest… your cold sounds worse.”
She hesitated before nodding. “He likes his eggs over medium. Not too runny, not too firm.”
“Got it. Why don’t you go back to bed for a bit?”
After she left, I pulled out every cookbook in her cabinet and got to work.
A woman cooking a meal in the kitchen | Source: Pexels
Raymond came down at exactly seven, newspaper tucked under his arm. He raised an eyebrow at the spread I laid out—golden pancakes, perfectly cooked eggs, crisp bacon, fresh fruit, and steaming coffee.
“Well, look at this!” he said, taking his seat. “Colleen could learn a thing or two from you.”
I forced a smile. “Mom’s not feeling well. I thought I’d help out while I’m here.”
He took a bite of the pancake and nodded approvingly. “Now this is how a man should be treated in his own home.”
I bit my tongue so hard I winced through the copper tang.
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“I’ll handle the meals while I’m visiting. Mom needs to rest.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all week.” He pointed his fork at me. “Your generation could use more women like you… ones who understand the kind of fresh food men really need.”
I watched him eat, planning my next move.
For the next four days, I became a one-woman restaurant. Eggs Benedict for breakfast, hand-rolled sushi for lunch, and Beef Wellington for dinner. I made every meal from scratch, plated it like artwork, and served it with a smile that made my face ache.
“This is incredible,” Raymond kept saying. “I should have you visit more often.”
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By day three, he took photos of every dish and sent them to his friends on Instagram. “This is what real home cooking looks like, man! 
“ he bragged.
Mom watched it all with knowing eyes, saying little but squeezing my hand when Raymond wasn’t looking.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered on day four.
“Trust me, Mom. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
That night, I prepared his favorite meal—herb-crusted lamb with rosemary potatoes and glazed carrots. The table was set with candles and Mom’s best china.
“To good food and family,” Raymond toasted, raising his wine glass.
I clinked mine against his. “And to appreciating what we have!”
A plate of roasted lamb with mashed potatoes and rosemary | Source: Pexels
He was halfway through his meal when I said, “You know, it’s interesting how our taste buds work.”
“How’s that?” he asked, mouth full of lamb.
“Well, for instance, you’ve been eating variations of the same three meals all week, but because I presented them differently, you never noticed.”
His fork froze midway to his mouth. “What are you talking about?”
“That lamb? It’s the same one I made two days ago. I just cut it differently and added a new sauce.”
His face flushed. “No, it isn’t.”
A woman clapping her flour-dusted hands | Source: Pexels
“The potatoes are leftovers from yesterday. The carrots? Those are from the beef dish on Monday. I’ve been recycling ingredients all week, and you’ve been praising every bite.”
Raymond pushed his plate away. “That’s disgusting.”
“Is it? Because five minutes ago, it was ‘the best meal you’ve ever had.’ You even posted it online.”
Mom had appeared in the doorway, watching silently.
“You served me… leftovers??”
“Leftovers aren’t about laziness, Raymond. They’re about planning, efficiency, and not wasting food… something my father understood perfectly.”
Food set on a table | Source: Unsplash
Raymond’s face turned an alarming shade of purple. “How dare you trick me like this!”
“How dare you treat my mother like your personal chef when she’s sick? How dare you break dishes and make demands like a spoiled child?”
“This is between me and your mother.”
“It became my business when I saw her picking up broken dishes off the floor.” I turned to Mom. “Get your coat.”
“What?” Raymond and Mom said in unison.
“I made reservations at Antonio’s. The real one, not the leftover version.” I smiled at Mom. “You and I are going out. Raymond can heat up something for himself.”
Mom looked between us, her eyes wide.
A stunned senior woman | Source: Pexels
“Go,” I said gently. “Wait in the car.”
After she left, I leaned across the table. “My mother spent 32 years with a man who appreciated everything she did. She deserves nothing less now.”
Raymond’s nostrils flared. “You have no idea what marriage is about.”
“I know it’s not about fear.” I straightened up. “There’s plenty of food in the fridge. Try not to throw any of it on the floor while we’re gone.”
A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Pexels
At the restaurant, Mom was quiet until our pasta arrived.
“I should have said something sooner,” she finally whispered. “After your father… I was so lonely. Raymond seemed kind at first.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I reached across the table for her hand. “But it needs to end.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m 62 years old. I never thought I’d be starting over again.”
“You don’t heal in the same place that’s breaking you, Mom.”
“I want to be brave again, dear. I used to be brave.”
“You still are. You just forgot for a little while.”
A sad woman staring at her plate of pasta | Source: Pexels
I extended my visit by another week, helping Mom pack Raymond’s things while he was at work. We changed the locks and put his belongings in the garage.
When he came home and found his key didn’t work, he pounded on the door until the neighbors peeked out their windows.
“This is my house!” he shouted through the door.
Mom stood in the hallway, shaking but resolute. “I’m sorry, but this is my late husband’s house. You can say what you need to say tomorrow when you pick up your things. For now, please leave.”
A man trying to unlock the door | Source: Pexels
Later that night, after the shouting stopped and the house was quiet again, we sat on the porch swing like we used to when I was little.
“What if I made a mistake?” Mom asked, her voice small.
“What if you didn’t?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Your father would be proud of you.”
“He’d be proud of both of us.”
***
Three months later, Mom called me on a Sunday evening.
“Raymond left me a voicemail. He wants to come over and cook me dinner. Says he’s changed. He’s begging me to call off the divorce.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I already had plans. I’m having lasagna tonight. The same one I made yesterday. And it’s delicious!”
A smiling senior woman looking at her phone | Source: Pexels
“And Mom? You know what goes great with lasagna? Freedom! And a kitchen where no one throws plates!”
Her laughter echoed like wind chimes.
Here’s the thing about entitlement: it eats itself. People like Raymond think they deserve service, but they forget love is never owed. It’s earned. And when you treat kindness like a chore, eventually, someone serves you a dish called consequences… with a garnish of get the hell out.
A woman holding a note with an insightful text | Source: Pexels
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