I’m glad you’re here with me. Please like this video and listen to my story till the end, and let me know which city you’re listening from. That way, I can see how far my story has traveled.
I had spent 32 years building a life I was proud of. After my husband, Robert, died from a heart attack when our son, Daniel, was only twelve, I worked two jobs—one as a bank manager during the day, another doing bookkeeping for small businesses at night—to ensure Daniel never felt the absence of his father in material ways.
I saved every spare dollar. I invested wisely. By the time Daniel graduated from college with a degree in marketing, I had built a comfortable nest egg. We were close, or so I believed. He called me every Sunday, visited for holidays, and always said I was his best friend.
Then he met Vanessa.
At first, I was thrilled. My son was twenty-eight and finally serious about someone. When he brought her to dinner six months into their relationship, I noticed small things: the way she answered questions directed at Daniel, how she corrected him when he spoke about his childhood, insisting her version of events he’d shared with her was more accurate than his own memories.
“Daniel, you told me your mom worked at a bank, not that she was a manager,” she’d said, laughing lightly. “Let’s be honest about things.”
I let it slide. New relationships have awkward moments, but the signs multiplied.
Daniel stopped calling every Sunday. When he did call, Vanessa was always there—her voice in the background, commenting on our conversation.
“Is that your mom again? Didn’t you just talk to her?” I’d hear her say.
His visits became less frequent. When I asked about Thanksgiving, he hesitated.
“Vanessa thinks we should start our own traditions,” he explained. “You understand, right, Mom?”
I tried to understand. I really did.
The engagement announcement came via text message. Not a phone call. Not a visit. A text with a photo of Vanessa’s hand sporting a diamond ring that must have cost three months of Daniel’s salary.
We’re engaged. Wedding in 3 months. Details to follow.
Three months.
That was my first real alarm. Why the rush? I called immediately. Vanessa answered Daniel’s phone.
“Oh, hi, Margaret,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “Daniel’s in the shower, but yes, we’re so excited. It’s going to be a small, intimate ceremony—just our closest people.”
“I’d love to help with planning,” I offered. “I’ve been saving for Daniel’s wedding for years.”
There was a pause.
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it continues on the next page.
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