We Postponed Our Wedding Because of My Fiancé’s Business Trip, but I Accidentally Saw Him in Town That Same Day

When Jennifer’s fiancé, Chris, postpones their wedding for a last-minute business trip, she’s heartbroken. But on her birthday, the day they were meant to marry, Jennifer spots him in town. Suspecting betrayal, she confronts him, only to uncover a life-altering secret that Chris has spent years keeping quiet.

Six months ago, when Chris got down on one knee in the park where we had our first date, I thought nothing in my entire life could feel more perfect.

A smiling couple | Source: Midjourney

A smiling couple | Source: Midjourney

We set the date for late fall, on my birthday, no less. It felt right, like everything in my life had been leading to that moment.

Chris and I were two halves of a whole, and as cheesy as that sounds, I mean it. He was the methodical planner, thriving on spreadsheets and five-year goals, while I was the impulsive dreamer, chasing creative projects and wandering wherever life led me.

Together, we found balance.

A stack of wedding invitations | Source: Midjourney

A stack of wedding invitations | Source: Midjourney

Or so I thought.

But then something happened that made me question everything.

A month before our wedding, Chris’s boss threw us a massive curveball. Chris had to attend a crucial business trip.

On the same day as our wedding!

An older man sitting at his desk | Source: Midjourney

An older man sitting at his desk | Source: Midjourney

“It’s just three days, love,” Chris said, holding my hands. “I know how disappointing it is, but at the same time… this is huge for my career, Jen. There’s a promotion on the line, and it could mean big things for us. We could move into our dream home sooner, we could extend our honeymoon for longer… I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

I was devastated. I mean, who wouldn’t be?

But what could I do? Reluctantly, I agreed to postpone the wedding for a few weeks. I tried to put on a brave face, telling myself that it was just a small delay along our journey.

An upset woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“Fine,” I said. “And I’ll make all the calls to the vendors and send out messages to all our guests. You focus on work and the trip, and I’ll do the rest. Okay?”

“I knew you’d get it,” he smiled.

Then my birthday arrived, the day we should have been saying ‘I do.’ Instead of getting all dressed, spending time getting my hair and makeup done to perfection, I found myself wandering aimlessly through the city.

A woman walking down a street | Source: Midjourney

A woman walking down a street | Source: Midjourney

My bridesmaids had wanted to spend the day with me, knowing that Chris would be away, but I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to see anyone.

“Why are you acting like the wedding is canceled, Jen?” my friend Avery asked. “It’s not. It’s just been postponed.”

“I know that,” I said. “But… I can’t help the way I feel. It’s just… never mind.”

“You can talk to me, Jen,” she said softly.

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney

“Yes, but I don’t even know what words to use. I’m feeling deflated, I guess. That’s all. I want to be alone. But I’ll come over tomorrow, I promise.”

I cut the call and left home in my boots. The crisp autumn air bit at my cheeks as I clutched my coffee, trying to ignore the gnawing ache in my chest.

The streets blurred as I walked, my thoughts spinning. I missed Chris. I missed him terribly. And I missed what the day should have been.

A person holding a cup of coffee | Source: Midjourney

A person holding a cup of coffee | Source: Midjourney

Eventually, I ended up on the outskirts of town, where a fancy boutique hotel caught my eye. Deciding I needed a drink, something stronger than coffee, I stepped inside the warm lobby.

The soft hum of voices and clinking glasses greeted me as I made my way to the bar. The bartender had just started making my drink when something, or someone, caught my eye.

There he was.

Chris.

The exterior of a hotel | Source: Midjourney

The exterior of a hotel | Source: Midjourney

In a suit, standing at the reception desk, talking to the concierge.

My heart stopped.

I blinked, sure that I was imagining things. Chris was supposed to be 500 miles away on his business trip. So, what the hell was he doing here?

Before I could think, I slapped a note on the bar, paying for my untouched drink. I stormed toward the staircase where he had disappeared. My boots echoed against the polished wood as I raced upstairs, my pulse pounding in my ears.

A note on a bar counter | Source: Midjourney

A note on a bar counter | Source: Midjourney

“Chris!” I shouted. “What is happening? Why are you here? What are you doing here?!”

He turned, startled, his face turning pale before my eyes.

“Jen! Wait!”

“No!” I said, my voice giving my feelings away. “You lied to me, Chris! You’re supposed to be on a business trip. Are you… are you cheating on me? Is that what this is?”

A man wearing a suit | Source: Midjourney

A man wearing a suit | Source: Midjourney

His hands shot up in defense.

“No, Jen, I swear it’s not that. Just… please, come with me. I’ll explain everything.”

I followed him down the hall, my anger simmering under the surface. He stopped outside a door, pulling a keycard from his pocket.

“What’s in there? Who is in there?” I demanded.

A man holding a hotel keycard | Source: Midjourney

A man holding a hotel keycard | Source: Midjourney

“Just… trust me.”

The door swung open, revealing a simple hotel room. My stomach churned as I scanned the space, expecting to see some other woman. Instead, it was empty.

Chris gestured to the armchair by the window.

“Sit down,” he said softly.

“Explain, Chris,” I said, suddenly exhausted. “Now. Please.”

The interior of a hotel room | Source: Midjourney

The interior of a hotel room | Source: Midjourney

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Jen, I’ve been working on something for a long time. For years, actually. It’s about your mother.”

I froze.

“My mother?” I echoed. “What?”

He nodded, his voice trembling slightly.

An upset woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman holding her head | Source: Midjourney

“I know you don’t talk about her much, but I know how much it’s hurt you, love. Not knowing why she left you at the hospital… not knowing where she went or why.”

I swallowed hard, the familiar ache of abandonment rising in my chest.

“For three years, I’ve been trying to find her,” Chris continued. “I hired private investigators, scoured records, even contacted labs to trace potential matches. And… I think I found her.”

A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney

A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney

My heart thudded in my chest.

“There’s a woman,” he said. “Her name is Margaret. She’s staying here at the hotel. I didn’t tell you because… well, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case it wasn’t her. I didn’t even know how to bring it up. But a few weeks ago, we got confirmation that her story matches yours. She’s been looking for you, Jen. My PI told me.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“You’ve been doing all this for me? And you didn’t tell me?”

A private investigator sitting at a desk | Source: Midjourney

A private investigator sitting at a desk | Source: Midjourney

He stepped closer, his voice gentle.

“I wanted to protect you. And… I wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday. If it was her, I mean.”

I sank into the closest armchair, my legs too shaky to hold me.

Two hours later, there was a knock at the door. My stomach flipped as Chris stood to answer it.

A woman sitting in an armchair | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting in an armchair | Source: Midjourney

When the door opened, a woman stepped inside.

She was tall and graceful, with streaks of gray in her dark hair. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, locked onto mine, and I felt like the air had been punched out of my lungs.

We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us speaking.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Jennifer?”

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

My name on her lips sounded strange, foreign yet familiar.

I stood slowly, my hands trembling.

“You’re… my mother?”

Tears filled her eyes as she nodded.

“I think so. But… we should go to the lab for a DNA test, just to be sure.”

A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney

“No,” I said, my voice firm despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me. “I don’t need a test. I know it’s you.”

It sounded stupid, I know. But I could see it all over her face. It was clear, if this woman wasn’t my mother, then she was still closely related to me.

She smiled softly, her tears spilling over.

“You look just like my mother,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

I blinked, confused.

An older woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

An older woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“You’ve been looking for me?”

She nodded, sitting down across from me.

“It’s a long story,” she said, her voice shaky. “Forty years ago, when I gave birth to you, there was a terrible mistake at the hospital. The nurse mixed up the babies… and I… I left with someone else’s child.”

My head spun.

“What?”

A newborn baby girl | Source: Midjourney

A newborn baby girl | Source: Midjourney

She shook her head.

“I didn’t know the truth until years later, when my daughter, well, the daughter I thought was mine, died in a car accident. A DNA test revealed she wasn’t biologically related to me. I was devastated. And that’s when I started searching for my real daughter. For you.”

My throat tightened.

“But… my mother left me at the hospital. That’s what my foster mother told me.”

The exterior of a hospital | Source: Midjourney

The exterior of a hospital | Source: Midjourney

Her face crumpled.

“I know. I think the woman who was supposed to take you home ran away when she realized the mistake. I’m so sorry, darling. You were abandoned because of what happened, and it’s all my fault. I passed out after I gave birth to you, I didn’t know any better when I came to.”

Tears streamed down my face as I tried to process everything.

Chris wrapped an arm around me, his touch grounding me.

A woman in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney

A woman in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney

“You’re not alone anymore,” he whispered.

Looking at the woman in front of me, my mother, I felt a strange mix of pain and hope. After years of wondering, I finally had answers. And on my birthday, of all days.

“It’s the best gift I could have asked for,” I said softly.

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

Two weeks later, we finally celebrated our wedding. My mother sat in the front row, tears shining in her eyes as Chris and I said, “I do.”

And for the first time in my life, I felt whole.

A smiling bride | Source: Midjourney

A smiling bride | Source: Midjourney

When Jake insists on cooking Thanksgiving turkey for the first time, Jen is skeptical but supportive until the result is a culinary disaster no one at the table can ignore. But the real shock comes when she discovers the recipe isn’t Jake’s. As tensions simmer and doubts creep in, she’s forced to confront the cracks in their marriage. This Thanksgiving, the turkey isn’t the only thing leaving a bad aftertaste.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

The Neighbor of My Grandparents Took Part of Their Land for a Driveway — His Hubris Ended Up Costing Him Thousands

Sometimes, the most satisfying re:ve:nge doesn’t involve intricate schemes or legal battles. It’s simply knowing where to park an old, beat-up F-150 and waiting for karma to do its thing.

Have you ever heard the saying that you shouldn’t mess with the elderly because they’ve experienced it all? My grandfather, Lionel, is a perfect example of that.

For more than 40 years, my grandparents have lived in the same charming hillside home.

It’s among those places where every corner holds a story: the old oak tree they planted when my mom was born, the wind chimes Grandpa crafted with his own hands, and the stone steps Grandma still sweeps every morning. They loved their quiet spot overlooking the valley. The only neighbor for years had been a vacant lot next door, which was steep and untouched.

It was like that until the day the machines came.

For illustrative purposes only.

Grandma called me the afternoon it started.

“Sweetheart, there’s a bulldozer chewing into the hill. And part of it… it’s our land,” she said in a shaky yet controlled voice.

“Are you sure, Grandma?” I asked, picturing the property I’d visited countless summers growing up. “Maybe they’re just clearing near the line?”

“Nathan, I’ve walked that property line every day for forty years. I know where our markers are. They’re cutting right through our corner lot.”

I made an effort to calm her down. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Have you told Grandpa?”

“He’s at his doctor’s appointment. I don’t want to bother him yet.”

“Okay, okay. Let me know what happens when he gets home,” I said, completely clueless about the drama that was about to unfold.

I thought it was probably just some contractor error that would be fixed with a quick conversation. Man, was I wrong. As they got home from errands that day, a scar had been carved across their yard. It was the beginning of a switchback driveway leading up to the neighboring lot.

The driveway clearly cut through the corner of their property.

Confused but calm, Grandpa walked down the hill to speak with the excavator operator. “Hey there,” he called, raising a hand. “Any chance you’ve got a plot map? That corner of the drive… it’s on our land.”

The guy looked down from the machine, sweat and dust streaking his face. “Ain’t mine to argue, sir. I’m just following orders. You’ll want to call the guy who owns the lot.”

He handed Grandpa a business card with a scribbled name and number.

That evening, Grandpa called.

For illustrative purposes only.

“Hi, this is Lionel. You’re building next door to us on Westridge. I think there’s been a mistake. Your crew cut across our lot.”

A pause.

After that the man on the other end replied, “No mistake. We checked the satellite images.”

Grandpa frowned. “Sir, we’ve got our property pins marked. Your driveway’s at least ten feet onto our land.”

“Well, then sue me. I’m not changing it now. Too late.”

The man on the other end hung up. Grandpa stood in the kitchen with the phone still in his hand.

“He hung up on me,” he said quietly.

Grandma, ever the calm one, touched his arm. “It’s just land, Lionel. Let’s not start a war.”

However that’s not what this was. This wasn’t about land. It was about disrespect.

When weeks passed, the driveway got longer. Crews worked six days a week, and no one knocked on the door in order to apologize or offer something as compensation.

It looked like they didn’t even acknowledge Grandpa’s concern. “We raised kids here,” Grandma said to me one afternoon while I was visiting. “That slope’s where we planted the garden every summer. And now he’s driving over it like it means nothing… It’s… it’s heartbreaking.”

I felt my blood boil as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grandma, this isn’t right. Have you guys talked to a lawyer?”

She shook her head. “Your grandfather doesn’t want the stress. Says at our age, peace is worth more than a few feet of dirt. And to be honest, I agree with him.”

Deep down, I disagreed with what Grandpa thought. I understood that legal battles are expensive, and could drag on for years, but my grandparents deserved better than that in their golden years.

Then one day, my friend’s dad, Patrick, stopped by while he was out walking his dog. He’d known my grandparents for years and lived down the street.

“You heard about the new guy?” Grandma asked as she offered him a glass of sweet tea.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah. I’ve seen the mess.”

Grandpa filled him in on the phone call, the dismissal, and the ongoing construction. “What a piece of work,” Patrick shook his head. “This is unacceptable… But don’t worry. Let me think about it. I believe I can find a solution.”

That night, Patrick had a couple of beers and called Grandpa.

“Lionel. I’ve got an idea. But it’s a little… unconventional.”

“Patrick, I’m listening.” Grandpa’s voice perked up with interest.

“Do you mind if I park my old pickup across that chunk of driveway? Entirely on your land, of course. I’ll leave a note, and I promise it won’t be anything illegal. All I wanna do is give that man a message and I’m sure this would do the trick!”

Grandpa chuckled. “You know what, Patrick? Go right ahead. It’s about time someone stood up to this b:ully.”

As he told Grandma about Patrick’s offer, she laughed for the first time in weeks. “My blessings are with Patrick and that rusty truck of his,” she said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Grandma called me the same night, whispering into the phone like she was plotting a bank heist. “Nathan, you won’t believe what Patrick’s going to do!”

She explained the plan. Then I couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry, Grandma. Everything will work out well. Guys like that neighbor always learn their lesson eventually.”

For illustrative purposes only.

The next morning, a battered, rusty F-150 appeared across the driveway. It was parked neatly, squarely on the strip that crossed my grandparents’ land. A note on the windshield read, PRIVATE PROPERTY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE REPORTED.

By 8 a.m., the construction crew had arrived.

“What the hell is this?” one of the workers muttered, staring at the truck blocking their access.

As they called the number mentioned on the note, Patrick answered.

“Yeah, it’s my truck,” Patrick said confidently. “I’ve got permission to park there. You touch it, it’s theft. And by the way, I’ve called the police already to make sure it’s on record.”

The foreman sighed. “Well, we can’t carry two-by-sixes up this damn hill by hand. Let’s call the boss.”

An hour later, the new neighbor called Grandpa.

“Lionel! Move that damn truck or I’m calling a tow,” he barked into the phone.

“You go ahead and try,” Grandpa said, calm as ever. “You’re the one trespassing.”

“You’ll regret this, old man!”

Grandpa chuckled. “I already regret not charging you for an easement when you first started digging.”

The neighbor hung up again. Days passed, and the truck didn’t move. No construction happened, and rumors began floating through the neighborhood. People waved at Grandma like she’d done the best thing in the world. I drove up to visit that weekend and found Grandpa sitting on the porch, binoculars in hand, watching the idle construction site.

“Having fun?” I asked.

“More fun than I’ve had in years,” he replied with a grin. “Three different tow companies have come by. All of them left when Patrick showed them the property survey and explained the situation.”

Some days later, the neighbor called again.

“Fine,” he snapped. “What do you want?”

Grandpa didn’t hesitate. “An easement contract. Fair market value. In writing.”

“And the truck?”

“It’ll go the moment we have a signed agreement and a check.”

A week later, the papers were signed, and the check was cleared. Patrick immediately removed the truck when Grandpa gave him the green signal.

For illustrative purposes only.

My grandparents used the money to finally fix their porch and donate to the local food bank.

Meanwhile, Patrick received three cases of beer and a thank-you card from my grandparents.

I visited the following month, and the new house was nearly finished. The neighbor avoided eye contact whenever my grandparents were outside.

“You know what the funny thing is?” Grandpa said as we stood outside the house. “If he’d just asked nicely in the first place, we probably would’ve let him use that corner for free.”

I smiled. “Some people have to learn respect the hard way.”

“And some learn it from a rusty old truck,” Grandma added with a wink.

That corner of land was not only dirt. It was forty years of memories and boundaries. And now, it was also the spot where my grandfather taught me that standing up for yourself doesn’t always need lawyers or shouting matches.

Sometimes, it just needs friends, patience, and knowing exactly where to park.

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