My Daughter Was Ashamed of Us and Didnt Invite Us to the Wedding
Today, I write to unburden the ache in my heart. Our daughter was ashamed of us for being from the countryside. She didnt even invite us to her wedding
My husband and I lived simply, but with pride. Our cottage, the vegetable patch, the cows, the daily worriesour whole world revolved around one purpose: raising our only daughter to be someone of worth. For her, we would have done anything. The best was always for Emily. New shoes? Of course. A coat so she wouldnt feel out of place among the city girls? Without question. We scraped together what little we had just so shed want for nothing. She grew up lovely, clever. Top of her class, dreaming of life in the city. And we rejoicedour Emily would have a future brighter than ours.
With help from an old friend, my husband got her into a prestigious university in London. A state-funded course. We swelled with pride as if it were our own achievement. We supported her however we couldwith money, with encouragement. Every visit home was a celebration. We hung on her stories like they were fairy tales: the office job, the wealthy boyfriendOliver, son of a business tycoon. She glowed when she spoke of him. And we thought, *please, let the wedding come soon*
But years passed, and no proposal came. One day, my husband had enough. “Invite Oliver here, at least let us meet him!” She hesitated, made excuses about work. Once, then again. Our suspicions grew. Something wasnt right. So we decidedmy husband and Iwed go to London. We found the address in old letters. Bought biscuits, dressed in our finest, and set off.
The house was sheer luxury. Stone, glass, a gated drive. A polite man greeted us and led us inside. Wealth straight out of a film. We stood frozen, unsure where to look, until we were ushered into the parlour. And then I saw it. On the table, a large framed wedding photo. In white, holding a bouquetour Emily. My husband turned to stone. The floor dropped from beneath me.
“Why didnt you come to the wedding?” Oliver asked suddenly.
We exchanged glances. What could we say? That we never knew it happened? Then she appeared. Emily. Her face drained of colour, lips trembling. I gestured for her to step outside with us. At first, she hedged, but finally relented:
“I didnt invite you because youre from the countryside. I was ashamed. I didnt want everyone knowing my parents were simple village folk”
The word *ashamed* pierced my heart like a blade. How could this be? Us? She was ashamed? Of *us*, who gave her everything? Who worked ourselves ragged just so she could have a future?
“And Oliver?” I barely choked out the words. “Did he know?”
“Yes. He wanted you there. He even sent an invitation, but I told him youd refused”
And that was it. We were the embarrassment she hid. She didnt even give us the chance to be there on the most important day of her life. No warning, no explanationjust erased.
We left that same day. No tears, no shouting. Just a hollowness in our souls. How do you move forward when your own flesh and blood turns away? How do you believe any of it meant anything? That we didnt raise a stranger?
Since then, Emily hasnt called. And weve stayed silent too. Not out of spiteout of grief. Because what do you say to someone who betrayed you so easily?
