Quando meu falecido pai me deixou uma casa da qual eu nunca tinha ouvido falar, pensei que era um erro até que encontrei uma mulher morando lá, alegando que era dela. O que ela revelou destruiu tudo o que eu sabia.
A chuva batia implacavelmente nos telhados enquanto eu apertava meu casaco e acelerava o passo em direção ao cartório.
Meu pai se foi. Eu não conseguia me livrar do pensamento. Ele sempre foi minha rocha, mas nos últimos anos, essa rocha tinha desmoronado sob o peso de dívidas que eu nem conseguia compreender.
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Finalmente, a casa em que morávamos juntos estava prestes a ser retomada, e eu não tinha mais forças para lutar contra isso.
“O que sobrou?”, perguntei-me quando cheguei à porta do escritório, parando para respirar fundo.
“Provavelmente nada além de mais um lembrete do quanto perdemos.”
O corredor cheirava a poeira e papel velho, sua luz fraca fazia as paredes forradas com pinturas desbotadas parecerem ainda mais sem vida. Fui conduzido ao cartório, onde um homem mais velho fez sinal para que eu me sentasse.
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“Vamos começar”, ele disse, folheando uma pilha de documentos.
Enquanto ele lia o testamento, eu mal ouvia. Minha mente vagava, relembrando momentos com meu pai, como ele sempre me contava tudo, ou assim eu pensava.
De repente, a voz do notário cortou meus pensamentos. “Uma casa.”
“O quê?!” Minha cabeça se levantou de repente. “Desculpe, você disse uma casa?”
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“Sim,” ele respondeu, deslizando um documento em minha direção. “Não é sua residência atual, mas outra propriedade que seu pai possuía.”
Fiquei olhando para o papel e as palavras ficaram borradas por um momento.
“Outra casa? Ele nunca mencionou isso. Como ele pôde esconder algo assim?”
Minhas mãos tremiam enquanto eu pegava os documentos. O endereço era desconhecido.
Por que ele não me contou? Essa era a maneira dele de tentar compensar tudo?
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Uma coisa estava clara. Eu tinha que ver esta casa. Parecia a única maneira de descobrir a verdade.
***
No dia seguinte, sexta-feira, decidi encarar o desconhecido. Tirando um dia de folga do trabalho, andei por uma estrada sinuosa ladeada por árvores de folhas douradas. Elas estavam altas e quietas como se fossem testemunhas de algo que eu ainda não conseguia entender.
Quando finalmente cheguei, a visão da casa me fez tremer. Parecia velha, mas não negligenciada. As grandes janelas captavam a luz, e a varanda recém-pintada contrastava com o telhado coberto de musgo, o que lhe dava um charme quase de livro de histórias.
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No entanto, o desconforto no meu peito ficou mais pesado.
“É isso”, murmurei para mim mesmo, segurando a chave que o tabelião me entregou.
A chave não funcionou. Franzi a testa, tentando novamente. A fechadura tinha sido trocada. Mordendo o lábio, dei uma volta para espiar por uma janela, esperando dar uma olhada melhor lá dentro.
Foi então que a porta se abriu com uma força que me fez pular.
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“Posso ajudar?” Uma voz severa exigiu.
Parada na porta estava uma mulher, provavelmente na casa dos sessenta, com feições afiadas e uma expressão que deixava claro que ela não estava feliz em me ver. Seus olhos, embora cansados, tinham uma faísca desafiadora.
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“Eu… uh… esta é minha casa,” gaguejei, segurando a chave. “Foi deixada para mim pelo meu falecido pai.”
“Sua casa? Eu moro aqui há vinte anos. Paguei as contas, consertei os vazamentos e consertei o telhado. Esta não é sua casa, e eu não vou embora.”
Meu aperto na chave aumentou. “Olha, eu não sei quem você é, mas eu tenho a papelada. Legalmente, esta casa me pertence.”
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“Papelada não significa nada para mim”, ela retrucou. “Eu coloquei meu sangue, suor e lágrimas neste lugar. Você acha que eu vou embora só porque você tem um pedaço de papel?”
Cheguei mais perto, tentando manter minha voz firme. “E você acha que eu vou deixar você ficar com isso? Perdi minha casa, meu pai — tudo! Isso é tudo que me resta.”
Ela me olhou feio, sua boca apertando. Por um momento, pensei que ela fosse fechar a porta na minha cara. Em vez disso, ela exalou bruscamente, seus ombros caindo apenas um pouco.
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Liguei para meu advogado, que me garantiu que, legalmente, eu tinha direito à casa.
“Vou resolver isso depois do fim de semana”, ele disse.
Olhei para a velha senhora novamente. “Vou ficar aqui até descobrirmos isso.”
“Tudo bem. Você quer brincar de casinha? Vá em frente. Mas não pense que estou desenrolando um capacho de boas-vindas para você. Eu sou Deborah, a propósito,” ela murmurou, se afastando apenas o suficiente para eu entrar.
O ar lá dentro cheirava levemente a polimento de madeira e tempo. Não era apenas uma casa. Era o lar de Deborah. Mas também era meu.
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A tensão entre nós era palpável como uma tempestade esperando para desabar. Eu não tinha certeza de como isso aconteceria, mas uma coisa estava clara: nenhum de nós planejava recuar.
***
Morar sob o mesmo teto que Deborah parecia uma batalha para a qual eu não tinha me inscrito. Ela parecia adorar encontrar maneiras de me deixar louco. Deborah batia na cozinha à meia-noite, chacoalhando panelas como se estivesse se preparando para um banquete, só que nenhum banquete se seguiu.
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De manhã, a água misteriosamente parou de correr bem na hora em que eu estava escovando os dentes.
“Sério, Deborah?”, murmurei baixinho, olhando para a torneira seca.
Seu olhar presunçoso quando a confrontei era quase cômico.
“Devem ser aqueles canos velhos,” ela disse com um encolher de ombros. Mas o brilho em seus olhos a traiu.
Ela perdeu minhas chaves, meus sapatos e até mesmo o carregador do meu telefone. Eu os encontrava escondidos em lugares estranhos, como a despensa ou debaixo do sofá. Era mesquinho, mas eficaz.
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Ainda assim, através de toda a minha irritação, havia um lampejo de simpatia. Ela parecia solitária, desesperada até, como se esta casa fosse o último resquício de controle que ela tinha sobre sua vida.
Na segunda-feira de manhã, eu estava mentalmente esgotado, mas determinado a manter minha posição. Eu tinha uma reunião com meu advogado naquele dia e precisava que tudo corresse bem. Minhas roupas estavam bem passadas e prontas. Pelo menos, era o que eu pensava.
Saí para pegá-los no varal onde os deixei arejando durante a noite, mas, em vez disso, os encontrei em uma pilha encharcada na lama. O vestido branco que eu havia preparado meticulosamente estava agora manchado de sujeira e grama.
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“Você está brincando comigo?”, gritei, entrando de novo em disparada.
Deborah estava sentada na cozinha, tomando seu chá casualmente. Ela mal olhou para mim.
“Algo errado?”
“Você jogou minhas roupas na lama!” Minha voz falhou de raiva.
Ela levantou uma sobrancelha, seu comportamento calmo só alimentando minha frustração. “Não sei do que você está falando.”
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Joguei a bagunça encharcada na mesa.
“Isto! O que há de errado com você? Eu não fiz nada para você, e você me trata como um criminoso! Por quê?”
Sua xícara de chá tilintou contra o pires quando ela a pousou.
“Você não pertence aqui,” ela disse friamente. “Esta casa não é sua. Ela nunca deveria ser sua.”
Eu congelei. “O que você quer dizer?”
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Ela se levantou, sua voz aumentando. “Esta era minha casa! Seu pai! Ele roubou tudo. Ele levou você, nossa filha, e me deixou sem nada!”
“O quê?” A palavra mal escapou dos meus lábios.
Seus olhos ardiam de raiva e dor.
“Ele te disse que eu estava morta, não foi? Ele não conseguiu me perdoar pelo que eu fiz. Mas eu era sua mãe. Eu sou sua mãe!”
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Sua mão tremeu quando ela tirou uma pequena pulseira do bolso. Ela a estendeu para mim, seus lábios tremendo. “Olhe para isso.”
Peguei-o, meus dedos tremendo enquanto o virava. Meu nome e data de nascimento estavam gravados na superfície delicada. Minha respiração ficou presa na garganta.
“Por quê?”, perguntei, minha voz quase inaudível. “Por que ele faria isso?”
Sua raiva diminuiu, substituída por uma dor tão profunda que era quase insuportável de testemunhar.
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“Porque eu fui embora,” ela disse, sua voz falhando. “Eu cometi um erro. Eu pensei que poderia ter uma vida melhor com outra pessoa. Mas aquele homem… Ele me deixou também. Quando eu voltei, seu pai se recusou a me perdoar. Ele levou você, e o tribunal deu tudo a ele.
Eu não conseguia falar. A mulher que eu tinha passado dias ressentido, aquela que tinha tornado minha vida miserável, era a mãe que eu nunca conheci.
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Ela continuou com lágrimas nos olhos. “Ele me deixou esta casa. Era sua maneira de se apegar ao que um dia tivemos. Uma lembrança do amor que compartilhamos… e talvez sua maneira de me agradecer por ter dado você a ele. Mas ele não poderia viver aqui novamente. Não depois de tudo. Esta casa continha muito do nosso passado, muita dor para ele enfrentar.”
Toda a raiva que eu sentia evaporou, substituída por tristeza e confusão.
***
Os dias que antecederam a data do julgamento foram tensos, mas tranquilos. Deborah e eu nos movíamos pela casa como dois estranhos em lados opostos de um campo de batalha. Mal falávamos, e quando falávamos, era curto e cortante.
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Passei meu tempo pensando na casa, no meu pai e no que Deborah havia revelado sobre nosso passado compartilhado.
Quando o dia chegou, meu coração ficou pesado. A decisão foi clara: Deborah tinha direito à casa. Seus anos morando lá, pagando contas e mantendo-a fizeram dela a dona legítima.
Senti o peso da derrota se acomodar em mim enquanto estava do lado de fora do tribunal. A casa, a única coisa que meu pai me deixou, não era mais minha.
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De volta à casa, arrastei minha mala até a porta da frente. Deborah estava na cozinha, e eu podia senti-la me observando enquanto eu me preparava para sair.
“Bem”, eu disse, quebrando o silêncio, “acho que isso é um adeus”.
“Espere”, disse Deborah, com a voz suave.
Virei-me, confusa. “O que é?”
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“Eu estive pensando,” ela disse lentamente. “Eu não quero que você vá embora. Eu passei anos me culpando, me odiando por tudo que eu fiz. E quando você apareceu, eu desabafei tudo isso em você. Mas você é minha filha, Emily. Eu não quero te perder de novo.”
As palavras dela me paralisaram. “Você está falando sério?”
“Quero que tentemos. Quero que consertemos isso, mesmo que não seja perfeito. Sinto muito…”
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Olhei para ela, o peso de suas palavras afundando. Então, sem pensar, dei um passo à frente e a abracei. Ela enrijeceu no começo, mas depois relaxou, seus braços me envolvendo firmemente.
“Eu também sinto muito, mãe…”
Nas semanas seguintes, limpamos, separamos caixas velhas e desenterramos memórias. Lentamente, a casa se transformou de um campo de batalha em um lugar de cura. Aprendi que família é sobre perdoar e encontrar uma maneira de recomeçar.
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3 Stories of Parents’ First Encounters with Their Children’s Partners That Took Unexpected Turns
Meeting your child’s significant other can be nerve-wracking, but for these parents, the first encounters took unexpected and shocking turns. From hidden secrets to surprising revelations, these stories prove that family ties are sometimes tested in the most unbelievable ways.
Every parent hopes their child finds happiness, but what happens when meeting their partner brings more questions than answers? Scroll down to read three stories where things took an unexpected turn the day these parents met their children’s significant others.
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1. My Only Daughter Terrified Me When She Revealed the Rare Habit Her Boyfriend Had
After our Sunday dinner, my daughter Susan brought the last dishes to the sink. She had this look on her face that signaled something important was coming.
“Mom,” she began, “you know I’ve been seeing someone new, right?”
“Yes!” I replied. “What about him?”
Susan rarely shared much about her relationships. At 24, she kept her love life close to her chest, so I was always ready to listen when she did open up.
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“His name’s Jack,” she said. “He’s quirky, and maybe it’s because of the age difference, but he has this strange habit.”
“Oh?” I asked, curious.
“He only eats the top of the muffin! Says it’s the best part,” she giggled.
My hands froze, the plate slipping from my grasp and shattering on the floor. That habit was too familiar.
“Mom! Are you okay?” Susan rushed to clean up the broken pieces.
A broken plate on the floor | Source: Pexels
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” I said, though my mind was spinning.
The memory of my Jack and his habit of eating just the muffin tops flooded back. Could it really be the same person?
Later that night, I lay in bed, thinking about him.
Jack was the man who had once been the center of my world. We parted ways years ago when life pulled us in different directions. He went abroad to study, while I stayed behind to care for my father.
Eventually, I married Phil and had Susan. However, my marriage with Phil ended in divorce a few years later.
A woman taking her ring off | Source: Pexels
At that point, Jack was still in my heart.
Could Susan’s Jack be the same Jack? I thought, but I was too afraid to ask my daughter.
Months passed, and every time Susan mentioned Jack, the unease grew. I avoided meeting him because I was too terrified to confront the possibility.
Then came the day Susan called me.
“Mom, Jack proposed!” she exclaimed. “We’re getting married!”
A few minutes later, she sent a photo of her ring, and it was beautiful. But Jack wasn’t in sight.
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As Susan prepared for the wedding, she often asked if she could come to my place with Jack. I came up with a new excuse every time, trying my best to avoid meeting him.
However, as the wedding day approached, I couldn’t avoid meeting him any longer.
I prepared myself for the worst at my daughter’s wedding.
As I stepped inside the venue, my gaze landed on the groom.
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“Thank God,” I whispered to myself.
The man standing next to my daughter wasn’t my Jack. Feeling relaxed, I began talking to the guests.
A few minutes later, I heard a voice behind me.
“Elizabeth?”
I turned, and there he was. My Jack, standing with his son, Susan’s fiancé.
The world seemed to stop as we locked eyes. He looked as stunned as I felt.
A man at his son’s wedding | Source: Midjourney
“Susan’s your daughter? I had no idea!” Jack exclaimed.
We spoke briefly during the reception, catching up on the years that had passed. He had lived a life parallel to mine.
He got married, parted ways with his wife, and now had children who meant everything to him.
I felt so happy watching Susan walk down the aisle that day. This was her moment, her future, and the love in her eyes told me everything I needed to know.
Later, as Jack handed me a glass of champagne, he said softly, “I came back for you, but you were gone.”
“I had to leave after my father passed,” I whispered.
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“I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew he meant it.
While dancing with Susan that night, I realized this wasn’t just her new beginning. It was a moment of healing for me too.
Jack and I had come full circle, but this time, it wasn’t about us. It was about my daughter’s happiness and that was all that mattered.
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2. Woman Humiliated Me at a Restaurant, but the Next Day, She Appeared at My Door as My DIL
I’ve always lived simply, saving everything for my son, John. I raised him alone, and now he is a hardworking business owner.
One day, I decided to visit his new restaurant to surprise him. I wore my usual modest clothes and took a bus.
Upon reaching there, I walked in and found a quiet table by the window. The waiter greeted me, and I asked him to bring me a cup of tea.
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As I waited, a young woman dressed in designer clothes approached me with a smug expression.
“Excuse me,” she said condescendingly, “This table is reserved for my boyfriend and me. You’ll have to move.”
I was startled. “Oh, I didn’t realize. There wasn’t a reservation sign.”
“Doesn’t matter. This table is for someone dressed more… appropriately. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself.”
A woman in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
Her words made me angry, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. I quietly gathered my things and left without even meeting John.
I felt extremely humiliated but didn’t tell my son about it because I thought that would spoil our meeting the next day.
Little did I know that things would only get worse.
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The following day, I was preparing lunch at home, eager to meet John’s girlfriend. I was so excited when the doorbell rang, but it immediately faded away when I opened the door.
The same woman who had humiliated me at the restaurant was now standing on my doorstep. She was John’s girlfriend.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she recognized me, but then she just smiled. She pretended like she was meeting me for the first time.
“Mom, meet Sarah,” John said.
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“Hi, Sarah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Please come in.”
As we sat down to eat, John began talking about their plans. Then, he dropped a bombshell.
“Mom, Sarah has a great idea. She wants to buy a café, and we were hoping you could lend us some money to help get it started.”
“A café?” I asked, looking at her with wide eyes. “That’s a lot of money, John.”
Before John could respond, Sarah stood abruptly and excused herself to use the restroom.
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I immediately turned to John once she left. “Are you sure about this? I don’t trust her, John. She treated me poorly yesterday at your restaurant.”
“What are you talking about?” John asked, confused.
Then, I told him everything that happened yesterday.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
Before I could say more, Sarah returned and sensed the tension.
“What’s going on?” she asked sweetly.
“Mom says she won’t give us the money,” John replied, clearly upset.
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
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“I don’t trust you, Sarah,” I said. “You treated me terribly yesterday at the restaurant.”
She feigned innocence at first, but when that didn’t work, her tone changed.
“If your mom doesn’t accept me, our relationship is over,” she spat, turning around to leave.
I thought my son would stay back, but he didn’t. He stood up, held her hand, and left me alone.
At that point, I knew Sarah wasn’t the right woman for John. I felt helpless because I couldn’t do anything to make him realize that.
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A month later, I received an invitation to the café’s opening. John told me he had arranged the money for Sarah through a few friends.
“I’ll be there, sweetheart,” I told John as a plan brewed in my mind. “I’ll definitely be there.”
On the day of the opening, I wore my best dress and took a bus to the café.
“Mom! How are you?” John greeted me at the entrance. “Come in, the celebrations are about to begin.”
I smiled and made my way inside.
A few minutes later, I asked Sarah to step out with me for a short conversation. Before leaving, I discreetly nodded to the bartender, signaling to set my plan into motion.
A bartender | Source: Pexels
“So, Sarah, I’m curious about your plans for the café. How do you see its future?” I asked casually.
Sarah smiled, confident in her victory. “Oh, it’s going to be a great success. I’ve got big plans.”
“Really? And what about the money John arranged for you? How are you planning to use it?”
I quietly watched as she rolled her eyes.
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“Oh, that? It’ll help with the expansion and a few personal investments,” she said before looking around to ensure we were alone. “You see, I need John only for the financial benefits. Love is nice, but security is better.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Your son loves me so much. He’s never gonna realize he’s being manipulated. And we all saw how he refused to believe you the other day,” she chuckled.
After a few more minutes of her revealing her true intentions, I decided it was time to return inside.
A woman in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney
Everyone was silent when we stepped inside.
“What’s up, babe?” Sarah asked, but John just looked at her with wide eyes.
“Mom was right about you,” he said. “I heard everything you said outside.”
Sarah had no idea I had connected my phone to the Bluetooth speaker in the café, and everyone had heard our conversation. Everyone in the room knew Sarah didn’t love John.
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“John, it’s not what you think!” she pleaded, but it was too late.
John, humiliated and heartbroken, ended their relationship. He later apologized to me over a quiet dinner.
3. I Met My Fiancé’s Parents, Only to Find Another Woman Posing as Me at Dinner
I’ll never forget the first time Mark and I met. It wasn’t love at first sight or any kind of sight, actually. We worked at the same company for three years without ever crossing paths. But one day, Mark emailed me about a sales issue, and that’s how it all began.
He called me to discuss the email, and soon our work-related conversations turned into something else. I found myself looking forward to his calls.
Eventually, he asked me out on a date.
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“Are you sure, Mark? I might not be what you expect,” I told him.
After all, I wasn’t the slim, polished woman someone like Mark might typically go for.
“Anna,” he said, “I love tea, and you’re my cup of tea.”
I laughed and agreed to the date.
When we finally met in person, I could see the surprise in Mark’s eyes. I wasn’t blind. I knew I was plus-size, and that wasn’t always what people expected.
But by the end of that lunch, we had hit it off. I thought we were perfect together.
A couple holding hands on a date | Source: Pexels
Six months later, Mark proposed. It was a dream come true, but something always felt off.
He kept me away from his friends and family, and I could tell he was embarrassed about my size.
Still, I thought love could overcome anything. I didn’t know how wrong I was.
One day, Mark’s parents were hosting their 40th wedding anniversary. He told me we’d drive up to Connecticut and spend the weekend with them.
I was excited to finally meet his family.
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But then, just two days before the event, Mark called with some bad news.
“I’m flying to Colorado for a work emergency,” he said. “I’ll meet you in Connecticut on Saturday, but you can’t come with me.”
I was disappointed, but I wanted to surprise him. So, I decided to deliver the anniversary gift to his parents myself. Wrong decision.
I knocked on the door, and an older woman answered a few minutes later.
“Yes?” she asked with a smile.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
“Hi, I’m Anna, Mark’s fiancée,” I introduced myself. “This is an anniversary gift for his parents.”
Her smile vanished.
“Is this a joke?” she asked, stunned. “Mark’s fiancée is inside having dinner with us right now.”
Confused and horrified, I pushed past her and into the dining room. There, sitting next to Mark, was a beautiful, slim woman clinging to his arm.
“Mark! What’s going on?” I demanded.
I still remember the look on his face.
A man in his house | Source: Midjourney
“Anna, this isn’t what you think. She’s an actress. I—”
“I don’t understand,” I cut him off. “If you didn’t love me, why did you propose?”
“I do love you!” he insisted. “I just… I was afraid. You know, you’re so… big.”
His words broke my heart. I immediately took off my engagement ring and placed it on the table.
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t be ashamed of me,” I said quietly and walked out.
Mark tried calling me for days, but I didn’t pick up. I couldn’t. I was heartbroken. How could someone who claimed to love me be so ashamed of who I was?
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A few days later, I arrived at work and saw a crowd gathered outside the building. Everyone was pointing at a huge billboard across the street. I gasped when I saw it.
There was a picture of Mark and me with the words, “I LOVE ANNA AND I WANT TO MARRY HER!”
Before I could process it, Mark appeared, dropping to one knee.
“Anna, I’m an idiot,” he said. “But I love you. Please marry me.”
I stood there for a moment as tears streamed down my cheeks.
A woman standing outdoors | Source: Midjourney
“You ARE an idiot,” I finally said. “But I still love you.”
Now, we’re planning our winter wedding in Connecticut. I never thought I’d forgive him, but love, it turns out, is bigger than any fear.
If you enjoyed reading this compilation, here’s another one you might like: Instant karma doesn’t wait for the guilty to escape unscathed. These three stories show how people who thought they could get away with wrongdoing were served poetic justice on the spot.
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.
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