**Today, I finally put pen to paper to unburden the ache in my heart. Our daughter was ashamed of uscountry folkand didnt even invite us to her wedding.**
My husband and I have always lived simply, but with pride. Our cottage, the vegetable patch, the cows, the daily toilour whole world revolved around one purpose: raising our only daughter to be someone of worth. For her, wed have done anything. The best was always for Emily. New shoes? Of course. A coat so she wouldnt feel outdone by the city girls? Without question. We scraped together what little we had just so shed want for nothing. She grew up lovely and clever, top of her class, dreaming of life in London. 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 place at a public institution, no less. 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 well-off boyfriendOliver, son of a businessman. Her face lit up whenever she spoke of him. And wed think, *Please let there be a wedding soon*
Yet years passed, and no proposal came. One day, my husband couldnt take it anymore: “Invite Oliver here, at least let us meet him!” She hesitated, made excuses about work. Again and again. Our doubts grew. Something wasnt right. So we decidedmy husband and Iwed go to London ourselves. We dug up an old address, bought biscuits, dressed in our Sunday best, and set off.
The house was pure luxurybrick, glass, a gated drive. A kindly 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 there it was. On the table, a grand framed wedding photo. In white, bouquet in handour Emily. My husband went still as stone. I felt the floor drop beneath me.
“Why *didnt* you come to the wedding, then?” Oliver asked suddenly.
We exchanged glances. What could we say? That we hadnt even known? Then she appeared. Emily. Her face drained of colour, lips trembling. I motioned for us to step outside. At first, she tried to brush it off, but finally, she faltered:
“I didnt invite you because youre from the countryside. I was ashamed. I didnt want everyone knowing my parents were simple village folk”
The words cut like a knife. *Ashamed?* Of *us?* After everything wed given her? Every sleepless night wed worked just to secure her future?
“And Oliver?” I whispered, barely breathing. “Did he know?”
“Yes. He wanted you there. Even sent an invitation, but I told him youd refused”
And that was it. We were her dirty little secret. She didnt even give us the choice 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 hollow silence in our souls. How do you go on when your own flesh and blood turns away? How do you believe any of it mattered? That we didnt raise a stranger?
Since then, Emily hasnt called. And weve stayed quiet toonot out of spite, but bitterness. Because what do you say to someone who betrayed you so easily?
