After six months of dating, Chris proposes to Beth. His enthusiastic family runs with the wedding planning — only to include unorthodox items on the program, causing Beth to leave her wedding.
For my 25th birthday this year, my boyfriend, Chris, whisked me off to Hawaii.
It was a fairytale because we had only been dating for six months, and I wasn’t expecting anything. But then, Chris proposed to me on the beach — I said yes, swept away by the enchantment of the moment, although I knew that six months of knowing someone was not enough before marrying them.
Little did I know that fairytale was about to unravel into more drama than I had signed up for.
Beach proposal | Source: Pexels
I wasn’t one of those girls who spent hours dreaming up their wedding. So when Chris’s family, fueled by their eagerness and involvement, took complete control over every detail of the wedding, even offering to foot the bill — I allowed it.
I’ll admit that there were moments when I felt sidelined, especially when I said that shades of blue for the color scheme weren’t my cup of tea.
But contributing to their enthusiasm was the better option than fighting with them.
Then, the big day arrived, and I was completely calm about everything — knowing that Chris’s Mom and sister had sorted everything out. I wasn’t close to my family, so other than my father, they didn’t play any big roles.
Blue wedding decor | Source: Pexels
“Beth,” his Mom, Leeanne, said, fixing my hair. “I want you to walk down the aisle with your eyes closed.”
“What? Why?” I exclaimed, already thinking about tripping over something while walking.
“I can barely walk properly in these heels with my eyes open,” I chuckled.
“It’s just tradition,” Leeanne said. “I did it, too. The whole thing is about seeing your husband first — the first thing out of the darkness.”
“He’s supposed to be the light,” Chris’s sister, Maggie, giggled.
The whole thing sounded strange. It wasn’t anything I had heard of before, but I also knew that people always came up with superstitions and stories.
“I wouldn’t have to wear a blindfold and mess up my make-up, right?” I asked.
“No, just close your eyes and hold onto your father’s hand tightly,” Leeanne said.
When I told my Dad what I needed to do, he laughed, thinking I was joking.
Pair of glittery Jimmy Choo heels | Source: Unsplash
It was absurd, of course. But my wedding only got worse from there.
At the altar, I opened my eyes, expecting the loving gaze of my fiancé, but I got way more than I bargained for.
Chris smiled at me, and after a second, another sight sent shockwaves through me — a woman in a white dress stood behind him.
I couldn’t tell whether he knew she was there from his expression. I wondered who she was, but the murmurs around me revealed her identity — Julia, Chris’s first wife.
“Chris, what’s happening?” I whispered, pointing to Julia. My voice was barely audible amidst the collective gasps.
Woman standing in white dress | Source: Pexels
But before either Chris or I could process this bizarre twist in the ceremony, Leeanne walked down the aisle, holding onto a little boy’s hand. Every face turned to look toward them.
Then, Julia stepped forward and held her arms open for the boy, ready for him to walk in.
“This is Eli,” she said, looking at me. “He’s six years old, and he is autistic. He’s the best part of me, but he’s also part of Chris. Elizabeth, this is our son.”
“But he wouldn’t tell you that,” Maggie chimed in from next to me — she was one of my bridesmaids.
“Did you know about Eli?” Maggie asked.
Boy covering his face | Source: Pexels
I shook my head. The air had become dense with emotion. The crowd’s eyes were on me, but my gaze was fixed on Chris, desperate for an explanation, an excuse, a denial, anything.
But there was none. Instead, he fingered his watch nervously, guilt undeniable on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, my voice shaking.
“I didn’t know how,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.
I turned to look at Eli, who was holding tightly onto Julia’s hand and looking around the room. I could clearly see Chris’s features all over his face.
“You let me believe that your divorce was admirable and that there were no ties to Julia,” I said. “But you abandoned your family. You abandoned your son.”
“He abandoned Eli when he found out that he was autistic,” Maggie said loudly.
My heart sank. How could I have almost married a man who was so thoughtless and cold? He left his son behind because of something that he was born with.
As the truth unfolded, I felt I was drowning in the weight of everything. Leeanne, upon discovering that Chris wanted to remarry, had orchestrated this dramatic revelation.
Man holding his tie | Source: Pexels
“You’re too young, Elizabeth,” she said. “You’re too young to be caught up in his mess. He couldn’t care for Julia, so she cared for herself and Eli. Chris has disappointed me in many ways, but nothing will make up for the neglect of his own child.”
It turned out that my wedding was just a harsh, public lesson aimed at a man who had turned his back on his responsibilities.
I kicked off my heels, handed them to Maggie, and walked away from the altar — not as a bride but as a woman who had narrowly escaped a life bound to deceit.
The experience was painful — sure, it had only been six months of knowing Chris, but I knew what I had felt for him was real. That’s why it hurt so much when I found out the truth.
People holding passports | Source: Pexels
In the aftermath, I took time to focus on myself. I decided I needed to travel and live life while still young. I needed more bad romances and horrible dates before figuring out who I wanted to be with.
I just knew one thing for sure — I didn’t want to be with someone like Chris. A man who lied about having a son — a son that was rendered invisible to him because he was autistic.
I’m just grateful that the only thing I had to pay for was my wedding dress — which had been returned three days after the so-called wedding.
Even now, when I think about the entire episode, I admit I’m not mad about it all. Leeanne did what she needed to do. And she did it to protect me and that sweet little boy.
Little boy with red hair | Source: Pexels
Has anything unreal happened to you?
Here’s another story for you | Fred is about to get married to Julia when five other women dressed as brides show up and spoil his plans. Julia loves him, and Fred is very convincing. Even after the can of worms is forcefully opened, Julia can’t help but wonder if he is a changed man.
My Family Turned Against Me When I Became a Private Detective, but a Teen Girl’s Case Changed Everything — Story of the Day
My family turned their backs on me when I left journalism to become a private detective. They saw it as a disgrace, and I started to wonder if they were right. No clients, no money, just regrets. But then a teenage girl walked into my office, searching for her mother—and her case changed everything.
I was sitting in my small, dimly lit office, sorting through the week’s mail. Bills, bills, bills, advertisements, more bills. The usual.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I let out a heavy sigh and set the letters aside, covering my face with my hands.
I used to be a journalist—a successful one, I must say—but I always felt like it wasn’t enough.
Stories were always unfinished, truths half-exposed, and justice left waiting. So, at 42, I quit my job and decided to become a private detective.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It was something that truly interested me, something I had always wanted to do.
My family didn’t support me. They tried to talk me out of it, but when they realized my mind was made up, they turned their backs on me.
My husband finally had a reason to leave me for a younger woman—one with shinier hair, fewer wrinkles, and, I assumed, fewer opinions.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
And my daughter? She cut me out of her life completely. She saw being a private detective as disgraceful—especially when compared to the prestige of journalism.
Of course, it hurt. But the longer I worked as a private detective, the more I started to wonder if they had been right.
I hadn’t had a new client in nearly three months, and I had plenty of debt. People didn’t believe in a female private investigator.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Men were assumed to be better at solving cases—stronger, sharper, tougher. As if intuition, patience, and persistence didn’t count.
Suddenly, even surprisingly, I heard a hesitant knock at the door. I straightened up, quickly smoothing my hair and shoving the pile of bills into a drawer.
“Come in!” I called out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The doorknob turned slowly, and the door creaked open. A girl, about fifteen, stepped inside.
She hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her clothes were too small—cheap, second-hand, sleeves of her sweater jagged as if they’d been cut off.
“How can I help you?” I asked, motioning to the chair across from my desk.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She sat down carefully, pulling her sleeves over her hands, her long, unkempt hair kept falling into her face. She brushed it away absently, over and over.
One thing was clear—she didn’t have a mother. I had taught my daughter how to braid her hair when she was six. This girl had no idea what to do with hers.
“My name is Emily,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m an orphan. I need your help to find my mother.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I studied her face. She looked nervous, but her eyes held something else—determination.
“She gave you up?” I asked.
Emily nodded. “Yes. I don’t know anything about her. Not her name, not what she looks like. Nothing.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She swallowed hard. “I’m fifteen now. No one is going to adopt me at this point. But I want to find her. I just want to see her. I need to understand why she left me.”
Her words stung. No child should feel unwanted. No child should wonder why they weren’t enough.
“I’ll need something to go on,” I said, reaching for my notebook.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Emily sat up straighter. “I was born in this town. I’ve never moved, never been sent anywhere else.” She took a breath. “My birthday is February 15, 2009.”
I jotted it down.
“Is that enough?” she asked, her fingers gripping the edge of her sweater.
“I’ll do everything I can,” I promised.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She hesitated, then pulled a few crumpled bills from her pocket. “I have some money, but not much.”
It wasn’t even close to what I needed, but that didn’t matter.
“If I find her, then you can pay me,” I said.
Her lips trembled. “Thank you.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She stood to leave.
“Wait. How can I find you?” I asked.
She scribbled an address and handed it to me. “My foster home. I’ll be there.”
I nodded, and she walked out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I wasted no time. It had been a long time since I had worked on a real case.
Even though I knew I wouldn’t make any money from this one—I couldn’t, in good conscience, take money from an orphan—it still felt good to have a purpose.
The first place I went was the hospital. Our town had only one, which made things easier.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
If Emily’s mother had given birth there, the records would be somewhere inside.
One advantage of my former job was that I had connections everywhere. The hospital was no exception.
I knew exactly who to talk to—Camilla. She had been a nurse for years, and we had met back when I was covering a story about harassment in hospitals.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She had been a source then. Since that day, she’d been a friend. As soon as she spotted me, she put down her clipboard and grinned.
“Sara!” she said, pulling me into a quick hug. “What brings you here? Please don’t say trouble.”
“I need your help,” I said, leaning in slightly.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Camilla raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do. You never just stop by to visit an old friend, do you?”
I crossed my arms. “You were literally at my house for dinner last week.”
She smirked. “Fine. What do you need?”
“Birth records. February 15, 2009.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She blinked. “That’s specific. Should I be worried?”
“Nothing illegal. I just need to find a name.”
Camilla folded her arms. “That’s doable, but make it fast.”
I hesitated. “The baby was given up, probably in secret.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her expression changed. “Sara, you know I can’t just hand you confidential records.”
“Please,” I said. “Just a quick look. No one will even notice.”
She studied me, then sighed. “You have ten minutes.”
I smiled. “Thank you. I owe you.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She rolled her eyes. “You owe me for life.”
She led me through a narrow hallway to the hospital archives. The air smelled of dust and old paper.
Camilla pulled out a thick folder labeled 2009 – Abandoned Newborns and handed it to me.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Be quick,” she whispered.
I flipped through the pages, my fingers trembling. February 15. My eyes locked on the mother’s name. My breath caught.
No. This couldn’t be real.
I shoved the file back and hurried out.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Camilla stood by the door. “Sara, you’re as pale as a ghost. What happened?”
“I’ll explain later,” I muttered, pushing past her. I needed air.
I stood outside a house I had never seen before. The air felt heavy, pressing down on me.
Emily’s case had become the hardest of my career. Too personal. Too close.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I stared at the door. My hands felt numb. I couldn’t bring myself to ring the bell.
I took a breath and reached for the doorbell. My hand hovered over it. I could still turn around, pretend I never came. But that wasn’t an option. Not for Emily.
I pressed the button. The chime echoed inside. Footsteps approached.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
The door opened, and I saw her.
Her face paled. Her lips parted in shock. “Mom?”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight. “Hi.”
Meredith blinked. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear—I don’t want to see you.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
I met her gaze. “I wouldn’t have come if this were about me.”
Her eyes darkened. “Then why are you here?”
I took a deep breath. “For your daughter.”
The color drained from her face. Her whole body tensed. “How… how did you—” She couldn’t finish.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her breath hitched. Tears filled her eyes. Then, without a word, she stepped aside and let me in.
The kitchen was small but neat. She moved stiffly, as if her body wasn’t sure what to do. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
I stayed standing for a moment, then sat across from her. Silence filled the space between us.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Her name is Emily, if you’re wondering,” I said. “No one ever adopted her. She’s been living with foster families. She came to me to find her mother, but I never imagined—”
Meredith squeezed her hands together. “Please stop,” she whispered.
I waited.
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“I have regretted it my whole life,” she said, her voice breaking. “I tried to forget. I told myself it was the best thing. That she’d have a better life without me. And now you show up out of nowhere to remind me what a terrible person I am.”
“You’re not terrible. You were a child yourself when she was born. I just don’t understand how you hid it. How did your father and I not know?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“I wore loose clothes. My belly wasn’t that big. And I planned to give birth in another town, but you and Dad went abroad for your work right before it happened. So it all worked out,” she said.
“Tell her I couldn’t be found,” Meredith said suddenly.
“Why?” I asked. “Meredith, I’m a mother too. I know what it’s like to lose a child. Nothing is more painful than that.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She lowered her gaze. Her voice trembled. “How can I face her? She’ll hate me.”
I let her words hang in the air. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But even so, she wanted to find you. That means something.”
Meredith wiped at her eyes. “What if she doesn’t want me?”
“She wants answers. She wants to know where she came from. You owe her that.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
She looked away. I knew she resented me. But I reminded myself—this wasn’t about us. It was about Emily.
“I have her address,” I said. “Do you want to see her?”
Meredith hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.
We drove in silence. The streetlights flickered as we passed. When we reached the house, Meredith didn’t move. Her fingers dug into her lap.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
I shook my head. “This is between you two.”
She looked down. Her voice broke. “Mom… I regret cutting you out. I was ashamed.”
I turned to her. “You are my daughter. No matter what, I will always love you.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Her face crumpled, and she reached for me. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her the way I had when she was little.
“What you’re doing is important,” she whispered. “People like Emily need you.”
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
Then she stepped out, walked to the door, and knocked.
A moment later, Emily appeared. They stared at each other. Then Meredith took a breath. Emily took a step forward.
They talked. They cried. And then Emily wrapped her arms around her mother.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: My future brother-in-law was always a problem—rude, arrogant, and always pushing boundaries. But on my wedding day, he crossed a line we could never forgive. He humiliated me in front of everyone, turning my perfect day into a nightmare. That was the last straw, and my fiancé finally had enough.
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.
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