In the days that followed, I learned the truth: Mark’s mother had orchestrated it all. She had never truly accepted me, despite her warm demeanor and homemade pies. In her eyes, I was an outsider, someone unworthy of her son. She convinced him that my pregnancy was evidence of infidelity, that I was scheming to trap him in a life he didn’t choose. And Mark, ever the dutiful son, believed her. His mother had always been the guiding voice in his life, and so he trusted her over me—the woman he claimed to love.
I left his apartment that night, heartbroken and carrying a child whose father had rejected him. The wedding was canceled, and I faced the humiliation of explaining the situation to friends and family. It was a dark time, filled with endless nights of tears and questions. I felt betrayed by the two people I had loved and trusted the most.
