She Married My Fiancé’s Dad—Then Tried to Cancel My Wedding
Just a few weeks before my wedding, I was sitting at my desk at work, sipping coffee and thinking about honeymoon options, when my phone buzzed. It was a call from my mother.
That alone made my stomach twist. She never called during work hours unless she had some kind of “emergency.” Usually, it wasn’t an emergency at all—just another dramatic update in her never-ending soap opera of a life.
I picked up the call, already bracing myself.
Her voice was chipper, excited like a teenager. “I eloped!” she announced.
My heart stopped. “Eloped? Wait, with who?”
She laughed like she’d just told me a funny joke. “With Eric!”
I blinked. “Eric… Eric who?”
“You know, Eric. David’s dad.”
I felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. “You married David’s dad?!”
“Yes!” she squealed. “Isn’t it wonderful? We’ve been seeing each other since that dinner at your place. We just clicked! So we drove to Vegas last weekend and made it official!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt dizzy. This woman—my mother—had secretly started dating my fiancé’s father during a family dinner at my house… and now she had married him?
But it wasn’t over.
“Since we’re now one family,” she continued with a weirdly smug tone, “it would be… inappropriate for you and David to get married. You’re step-siblings now.”
I stood there, frozen. My entire body went cold. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, sweetheart. Think about it. It just wouldn’t be right. You’ll find someone else. You’re young, you have time.”
I snapped. “Are you serious? You want me to call off my wedding because you couldn’t keep your hands off my fiancé’s father?!”
There was a short silence. Then I made a mistake—I yelled, “And I’m pregnant, by the way!”
Her voice turned icy. “You’re pregnant?”
“That’s not the point,” I said quickly, but I knew I’d just handed her another weapon.
She sighed, then started crying. “You just want me to die alone, don’t you? You want to punish me for that one mistake I made all those years ago!”
“One mistake?” I choked. “You tore our family apart! You cheated on Dad, and now you’ve ruined this too!”
She started going off about how she deserved happiness, how I was being selfish and dramatic. That was the moment something inside me snapped.
“I’m done, Mom,” I said, trembling but firm. “You’re not welcome in my life anymore.”
Then I hung up.
And I didn’t cry. I didn’t collapse. I just sat there, stunned but strangely… lighter. Like I’d dropped a giant weight I’d been carrying around my whole life.
But I thought that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Three days later, my phone started blowing up again. This time, it was the wedding venue, then the florist, then the photographer.
“Hi! Just calling to confirm your cancellation,” they all said.
What?!
I hadn’t cancelled anything.
Turns out—she had. My mother had called everyone and pretended to be me. She started canceling the wedding behind my back.
I felt sick.
David was furious when I told him. His face turned red, and he started pacing back and forth in our tiny apartment, fists clenched.
“She had no right,” he kept saying. “She’s not even involved in the planning! This is our wedding!”
That same day, David went straight to confront his dad.
Eric, to his credit, was shocked too. “I didn’t know anything about that,” he told David. “I have no issue with you two getting married. Your mom—uh, my wife—did that on her own.”
He actually shrugged and said, “She’s a little impulsive.”
David told me later, “I almost lost it right then and there. Impulsive? She destroyed everything!”
That was the moment we knew we couldn’t keep going like this. We needed to do something big.
So… we disappeared.
We packed up everything in two days, broke our lease, and left town. No warning. No dramatic goodbyes. Only my dad and my best friend Jessica knew where we were going.
David got a job in a peaceful little town two states away. We found a small apartment, cheap but quiet. It didn’t matter where we were. All that mattered was that we were free.
We got married three weeks later at a small courthouse.
No guests. No big dress. No decorations.
But it was perfect.
My dad flew in to walk me down the aisle. Jessica was my maid of honor. David looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.
That night, lying on a borrowed mattress in our new place, David asked me, “Do you regret it?”
I looked at him, rubbed my belly where our baby was growing, and whispered, “Never.”
A few months later, Dad called again.
“Your mom and Eric… they’re divorced,” he said, almost laughing.
“Already?”
“Four months,” he said. “She says marriage isn’t for her.”
I felt nothing.
“She’s been asking about you,” he added. “Wants to know about the baby. Sent a letter and a baby blanket. I think she crocheted it herself.”
I didn’t even hesitate. “I don’t want it. Please donate it.”
“Of course,” Dad said softly. “Whatever you want.”
She still tries to reach me from time to time. Voicemails, cards, little gifts in the mail I never asked for.
“You need to forgive me,” she said in one voicemail. “I’m your mother. I have a right to know my grandchild.”
But no—she doesn’t. She gave up those rights the moment she put herself above everyone else. When she tried to ruin my wedding. When she married my fiancé’s dad like it was some kind of game.
You don’t get to shatter someone’s life and then cry when they stop picking up the pieces for you.
Family isn’t just blood.
Family is love, respect, loyalty, and boundaries.
And sometimes, cutting someone off is the only way to heal.
Because some people? They don’t deserve a second chance just because they share your last name.
Some people have to stay out of your life—for good.
And I finally understand that now.
