Sue was left in a cardboard box as a small child. Luckily, a store clerk took her home and changed the course of her entire life. Now, in the form of an unexpected knock at the door, Sue has to face her past and the disappointment that comes with it. Is this a grand reunion or the biggest disappointment of Sue’s life?
I was left in a cardboard box in a supermarket twenty years ago. I was just a few months old, and all I had to my name were a few photos of my mother and a note.
A baby in a cardboard box | Source: Midjourney
The note read: I will always love you, Sue.
Nobody knew my surname or whether I had a middle name. Nobody seemed to know my mother or what had happened to my father. I was all alone in a world that didn’t know anything about me.
A folded piece of paper | Source: Midjourney
But even then, at a few months old, I seemed to be fortune’s fool. I was found by a kind store clerk, Ruby, who took me in.
“I couldn’t leave you there, Sue,” she would say whenever the story came up. “I became your guardian shortly after and raised you as my own. You became my little bug.”
Ruby was everything to me. And as I grew, the closer we became.
A smiling woman in a grocery store | Source: Midjourney
I was forever grateful that she gave me everything I needed. But still, I never stopped wondering why my mother left me and if she would ever come back.
“I know that it bothers you, darling,” Ruby told me one day as she made lasagna for dinner. “But she’s an enigma now. We have nothing that could lead us to her.”
A tray of lasagna on a board | Source: Unsplash
“I know,” I said, grating more cheese for when the dish was ready. “It’s just frustrating when I start thinking about it.”
“You love the internet, you love social media, Sue. Use it, share your story, maybe it will resonate with people, and you can connect with others just like you.”
A person grating cheese | Source: Pexels
She opened the oven and put the tray of lasagna inside.
So I did just that, and I became a well-known video blogger, sharing my story with the world.
“You’ve created a safe platform for people to share their stories, too,” Ruby told me when I read comments from my latest video to her.
A young woman holding her phone | Source: Unsplash
“It means something to me,” I said, helping myself to the eclairs on the table.
Fast forward to the present. I am successful and able to provide for myself and my guardian.
“So much for being an abandoned baby,” I said to myself as I washed my face one night.
A woman washing her face | Source: Pexels
But imagine my surprise when an unexpected knock on my door changed everything.
I opened the door to find a frail, older woman standing there, her eyes filled with regret and desperation.
“Sue, darling,” she said. “I am your mother, and I need your help!”
A person opening a door | Source: Pexels
I just looked at her, unable to blink for fear of missing the moment.
“Do you still have the note I left with you when I left you safely in the store?”
Safely? I thought to myself. I stood there, paralyzed by the flood of emotions that had come in when she entered my home.
A sad woman holding her face | Source: Pexels
“Yes, I have it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I kept it.”
“I know I have no right to ask for your help after what I did, but I need you to believe me when I say I had no choice back then. I was running from a dangerous situation. And I thought leaving you in a safe place was the only way to protect you. I needed to disappear.”
A person wearing boots | Source: Unsplash
“What kind of situation?” I asked.
I had wondered about this moment for years. And every second that went by, I was just disappointed by the reunion with my birth mother.
She hesitated, looking down at her hands.
A person holding their hands together | Source: Unsplash
“There were people after me, people who wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted. I stole something once, just to help me out financially. I stole the wrong thing from the wrong people. I had to keep you safe. So I left you.”
Of course, my mother was shady.
Two people dressed in black | Source: Pexels
“You could have come back sooner. You could have tried to find me.”
“I know, but I was scared.”
I took a deep breath, trying to process everything.
“What do you need help with?”
A woman with her eyes closed | Source: Unsplash
She looked up, her eyes pleading.
“I need a place to stay, just for a little while, until I can get back on my feet. I have nowhere else to go.”
My heart ached. But I knew that Ruby would want me to say yes. She would tell me to do it. I could almost hear her words in my head.
A smiling older woman | Source: Pexels
“That’s your birth mother, Sue. Help her,” Ruby would say, most likely bribing me with something to eat.
“Okay,” I said finally. “You can stay. But this doesn’t mean everything is forgiven. We have a lot to talk about.”
She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
“Thank you. I promise, I’ll make things right.”
She reached down, picked up a worn duffel bag, and followed me in.
The first few days went by relatively smoothly. My mother seemed genuinely remorseful and tried to help around the house.
A worn duffel bag on the floor | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll cook and I’ll clean for you, darling,” she said.
But it didn’t last long.
One evening, I came home earlier from the local radio studio where I was being interviewed for my content. The house was unusually quiet.
A person holding cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels
Walking to my bedroom, I heard the faint sound of drawers opening and closing.
And there she was, standing there in front of my open jewelry box, my most precious pieces clutched in her hands.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, unable to contain my rage, but also wanting to keep calm at the same time.
An open jewelry box | Source: Midjourney
She looked up, startled, and for a moment, I saw a flash of guilt in her eyes.
“I was just… I thought maybe I could sell some of these to help me out. They’re heavy, so they’re real.”
“Of course, they’re real! They’re gifts from my mother! She saved up for years just so that she could get that diamond necklace for my 18th birthday. And you want to steal from me?”
A diamond necklace | Source: Unsplash
She looked shocked, like the wind had been knocked from her sails.
“You have so much, darling,” she said, almost whimpering. “I just thought that you wouldn’t miss a few pieces. We could use the money.”
“We? This isn’t about us; it’s about you. And it’s not about money, either. It’s about trust. You said that you wanted to make things right, but all you’ve shown me is that I cannot trust you.”
A woman holding her head | Source: Unsplash
She reached out to me, but I stepped back.
“Please, don’t do this, Sue. I can change. I just need some time.”
I shook my head, tears of betrayal and disappointment filling my eyes.
A close-up of a crying woman | Source: Pexels
“I gave you a chance. I let you into my home. I let you meet Ruby. And you still chose to betray me. No, I’m sorry. But you need to leave.”
Her face crumpled, and she pulled a tissue from my vanity.
“Please, just one more chance,” she said.
“I can’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “You need to go.”
A box of tissues | Source: Midjourney
“Sue, I gave birth to you,” she said, putting the necklace down.
“And you left me in a box,” I said.
I watched as she gathered her things and left, the duffel bag looking considerably fuller than when she arrived. But I didn’t have it in me to fight her again.
A full duffel bag | Source: Midjourney
Sadness and disappointment weighed me down heavily. But there was also a sense of relief.
Later, I went over to Ruby’s house. It was the one place that would always feel like home to me.
“Darling girl,” she said, flipping grilled cheese onto a plate. “You took a chance on someone who loved you, that’s what you take away from this experience.”
Grilled cheese on a plate | Source: Midjourney
I smiled at her. At the woman who had taken me home in a heartbeat and had loved me ever since.
But now, I worry that I’ve just sent my birth mother back into the world she had been trying to escape from.
A worried woman with her head on a table | Source: Pexels
Was I right in my decision?
Bride Claimed I Destroyed My Son’s Wedding Because of My Outfit Choice – Was I Really Wrong Here?
Claire just wants to be the glamorous mother-of-the-groom—but when she realizes that her daughter-in-law has her own plans for the wedding, she steps back to focus on her own outfit, only for there to be a fight between her and Alice on the big day. Alice claims that Claire has destroyed the wedding by stealing her dream dress, while Claire sees nothing wrong in her actions. Who is wrong?
All I wanted was to be the mother-of-the-groom. That’s it. I just wanted to be the doting mother who loved her son more than anything—but this is the story of how my attempt to make my son’s wedding perfect turned into a day we’d all rather forget.
When Mark introduced Alice to us, she was unlike anyone I expected him to fall for. Mark, my son, is a lawyer at a top firm—a position that he secured straight after his graduation from Stanford.
“I’m going to be a lawyer, Mom,” he told me once when he was still in high school and doing an essay on the career he wanted to get into.
“I could easily see that,” I told him, making him breakfast as he worked away.
“It’s to help fight injustices. For children, specifically,” he said, drinking his orange juice.
Mark had big dreams, and I knew that my son was always going to reach for the stars.
Alice, on the other hand, was completely different from my son. Her entire personality was light and carefree, whereas Mark was serious and brooding. Alice was a self-taught coder, who freelanced from their cozy apartment. Their worlds, their politics, their interests didn’t align.
But they made it work—and they were a sweet couple for the most part. But love, as they say, is blind.
When Mark proposed to Alice, we were all invited to the scene to help surprise her.
“Please, Mom,” Mark said on the phone. “Alice isn’t close to her family, so to see you and Dad there will be good for her. She’ll know that she’s welcomed and supported.”
“Of course, honey,” I told him, already envisioning their wedding in my head.
I swallowed my reservations and offered to pay for the wedding. James and I had put money away for Mark’s studies, but he had always gotten bursaries which paid for it all.
“We can just use that money for the wedding, Claire,” my husband said over lunch the day after the proposal.
“It’s the best thing we could do for them,” I agreed. “This way they can save up to move out of that small apartment. I know Mark’s been talking about a house with a garden because he really wants a dog.”
When we told Mark and Alice, I thought that the gesture would bring us closer. I didn’t have any daughters, so I thought that this would be my chance.
I could get to know Alice better—and that would be good for Mark, to know that his wife and his mother got along well. Instead, the wedding planning only highlighted our differences.
After a few months into the wedding planning, I met Alice at a coffee shop so that we could go over the details. But we clashed on everything.
“I think roses are timeless,” I said, helping myself to a slice of cake.
“They are, but they’re also overdone in a sense,” Alice said, sipping her tea. “Mark and I want peonies.”
Our meeting went back and forth a few times—and we were stuck in a space where we just couldn’t agree on anything.
“Okay, how about this?” I asked her. “You go ahead with everything else, and just tell me what color your bridesmaids are wearing, so that there won’t be any clashes.”
“They won’t be wearing green,” she said. “I’m leaning toward pink.”
I paid the bill and we parted ways with the wedding planning.
But then, one afternoon Alice texted me.
Hi Claire, just picking out my wedding dress with the girls! I’m so excited! I wish you were here!
Attached were photos of her five top wedding dress picks.
I knew that Alice and I were on different ends of what we thought that the wedding should look like, but I wanted to be included in the big things. I wished that she had included me in the wedding dress shopping.
“At least she’s sending you the top picks,” James said as he read the newspaper next to me.
“I know, but it’s not the same,” I said.
“Do they look good?” he asked. “Can I see them?”
Together, we scrolled through the photos of the potential dresses. They were adequate choices, but nothing stood out.
Nothing that would fit the standard of my future daughter-in-law.
The dress that was Alice’s favorite and the first contender for the actual wedding dress wasn’t what I expected.
I typed back, telling Alice that it wasn’t quite the best choice. And I hoped that my financial stake in the wedding would weigh in. James and I hadn’t given the kids a budget. They had everything at their disposal.
Why not consider the second one? It might be more flattering for you.
James chuckled beside me.
“You’re at the point of over-stepping,” he said.
Before I could say anything, my phone pinged with a message from Alice.
Sorry, but I disagree. This is the dress I’m choosing.
That night over dinner, as James was plating our salmon, I shared my frustration with him.
“Alice is not even considering my opinion, and I’m paying for the dress!” I exclaimed.
James tried to mediate; he also texted Mark to make sure that he knew how I felt, too.
“I think you should just leave the wedding planning to them now,” James said. “Put all your attention into yourself and what you’re going to wear.”
But it also turned out that Mark was able to persuade Alice to wear the dress I preferred.
I had to admit, it was the less stressful option, and I hadn’t been able to shop for my dress before that.
So, that’s what I did.
I went to a few different boutiques and eventually found my perfect dress. It was emerald green, which I knew brought out my eyes.
“That’s beautiful,” James said when I tried the dress on for him.
I had felt different. I no longer felt like the mother-of-the-groom who had been pushed aside. Instead, I felt beautiful in my own skin, my self-esteem growing every time I thought of the dress.
When the wedding week loomed upon us, James and I tried to make ourselves as present as possible. We went to all the events that Mark and Alice needed us to be at—including the rehearsal dinner where we saluted them and drank champagne to toast the festivities.
“All sorted, Mom?” Mark asked me. “Your dress and everything?”
I smiled at my son. Despite being in the middle of Alice and me, he was always checking in on me.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m ready to celebrate you and Alice.”
On the morning of the wedding, I put on my green dress and did my make up. It was everything I had wanted to look for my son’s wedding—elegant and sophisticated.
As I arrived at the venue, the air was thick with murmurs. I ignored them, thinking that everyone was just so used to me being dressed in comfortable clothing, that this was something different for them.
I went straight to the bride’s dressing room, hoping to see Alice and compliment her before she walked down the aisle.
Upon opening the door, Alice looked up—her joyful expression collapsing into one of utter devastation. She looked me up and down before bursting into tears.
“Why did you do this to me, Claire?” she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.
Confused, I stepped into the room and closed the door.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“Your dress!” she exclaimed.
“What about it?” I asked, second-guessing everything.
“It’s my dream wedding dress, just in another color,” she said, nearly shouting.
I was taken aback.
“Alice, honestly,” I said. “I didn’t realize—they look so different in color.”
But Alice wasn’t having any of it. She sat on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands.
“How could you?” she looked up and cried out. “You’ve made this day about you! Just because we didn’t take any of your suggestions!”
Mark, having heard the commotion from his dressing room next door, came rushing in.
“Mom? What’s going on here?” he asked me.
He looked from Alice to me, seeking an explanation.
Trying to calm the waters, I explained everything slowly.
“I didn’t see the resemblance, Mark,” I said. “I truly just loved the dress, and I thought—”
Alice stood up and marched toward Mark.
“No!” she exclaimed. “You thought that you’d show me what I could’ve had, but in green. Isn’t that it?”
“Mom, please,” my son said. “Let’s just try to get through the day. Please, for me.”
I agreed and left the dressing room. I just wanted to find James and sit quietly until the day was over.
I knew that Alice and I were walking a thin line, but I didn’t expect her to shout at me in the manner that she did.
Naturally, I was upset, but I didn’t want to ruin their day any further.
Reflecting now, perhaps I should have been more open to Alice’s preferences. It was her day after all, not just mine to orchestrate. The question of whether I was wrong hangs heavily over me.
Yes, in trying to enforce my vision, I might have lost sight of what was truly important—Alice’s happiness and Mark’s peace on their special day.
Was I wrong for what I did?
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