My Broken Marriage: I Gave Birth to a Son While Marek Married the One Chosen by His Mother

My broken wedding: I gave birth to a son, and Marc married the woman his mother had chosen for him
My wedding never happened: I delivered a baby boy, and Marc wed the partner his mother selected.
Sometimes fate collapses suddenly, like a house of cards built on hope, love, and belief in the future, only to turn into betrayal, pain, and a silent loneliness. Thats exactly what happened to me.
Im Claire, and Im ready to tell the story that still brings tears to my eyes, even after all these years.
Marc and I had been together for almost a year. It felt like a true lovesimple, warm, sincere. He was caring, always there, and it seemed we spoke the same language. Six months into the relationship I moved into his apartment, and soon we filed a marriage request at the town hall. The wedding date was set, our families were preparing everything with joy, and my mother had even ordered her dress in advance. His mother too appeared delighted with the union; she greeted me with a smile, brought homemade pies, and told me I was just right for her son.
Marc grew up under tough circumstanceshis father left the family when he was a child, went off with another woman, divorced again, and vanished. Perhaps thats why Marc was so attached to his mother; her opinion mattered above all else.
Ten days before the wedding I discovered I was pregnant. I wanted to surprise him and announce it on the ceremony day. My father, a oldschool man, would have been thrilled to hear such news before the wedding. I imagined telling him proudly as he walked me down the aisle.
The preparations were in full swing: we chose the venue décor, discussed the menu, practiced our first dance Then, a week before the big day, during my mothers birthday, Marc declared the wedding was off. The reason? The baby wasnt his.
Those words struck like a blow, not only to me but to my whole family. My parents didnt even know I was pregnant. Horrified, I asked what he meant. He showed me a photome at a crosswalk next to an unknown man, taken from a distance at an angle that created the illusion of closeness. He claimed it was proof of my infidelity.
I tried to explain that I didnt know the man, that he could have been any passerby. Marc wouldnt hear a word. He was deaf to my pleas, as if he had already decided to believe the lie.
That night my mother was crushed by shame and humiliation. We had to call the relatives to announce that the wedding was canceled, that their daughter was pregnant, and that the fiancé had fled, leaving me on the edge of motherhood.
Five months later I gave birth to a son, André. My parents, despite everything, stood by me, even though it cost them dearly. They held onfor me and for my child.
I tried not to think of Marc, but later I learned the truth. His mother had never wanted me in the familyshe thought I was too simple, not the obedient, proper daughterinlaw she desired. She persuaded her son to break off the engagement and staged the photo drama. In my place she had chosen Agathe, the daughter of an influential family with good connections and money.
Marc married Agathe a few months after our tragedy. Yet life quickly set things straight. Agathe turned out not to be the lady she pretended to be; she immediately attacked her motherinlaw, took over the whole house, and allowed no one else into their lives. Marc couldnt stand it. He went to work in Germany and then filed for divorce.
Recently he started messaging me on social media, apologizing, saying he now understands and wants to have contact with André, no matter who the boys father is, as long as hes close to him.
I no longer believe him. My trust has turned to ash. I refuse to let my son grow up near someone capable of such betrayalsomeone who ignored his own heart and followed his mothers orders, who chose lies, convenience, and cowardice.
Yes, I know forgiveness is a virtue, but I wont let back into my life those who once chose to betray me. Ive learned to be strong, to wait for nothing, to be a mother without a mans help. I have Andrémy purpose, my love, my strength.
As for Marc let him live with his conscience. If any ounce of the love he once swore to me remains, he will understand why I never opened the door when he knocked after ten years.
Perhaps that will be his true punishment.