I was supposed to get married last week. I’m 26, and I was engaged to my boyfriend of three years, also 26, for six months. We have one-year-old twin boys together. The pregnancy wasn’t planned, and he was firmly against it at first. I was stubborn, telling him I’d have them with or without him. I gave him the option to leave, no strings attached, no child support demanded. I knew I could raise my babies on my own. My maternal instinct was strong, and the timing felt right for me.
He told me he needed time to come around. It was only when I threatened to break up that he seemed to change his mind. To his credit, he was a good partner throughout the pregnancy and a wonderful father after the twins were born. Six months later, he proposed, and I said yes. It was as if that terrible argument where he wanted me to get rid of our babies had never happened. I was ready to marry him.
For months, we planned our perfect wedding. My parents adored him. He was, to everyone, the perfect guy. But the night before our wedding, one phone call ruined it all.
As is customary, we were staying in separate places. He was at his family’s house a few blocks away. After dinner, he called me. “I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow.” We shared a sweet moment, said our goodbyes, and I waited for him to hang up.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, he forgot.
I heard his father’s voice ask, “Were you just talking to her?”
“Yes,” my fiancé replied, but his tone was dejected, distant. Something was wrong. Curiosity got the better of me, and I kept listening. The conversation that followed still plays in my head on a loop.
His dad asked if he still felt the same way he did two days ago. “Yes,” he sighed.
His mother joined in. “No matter how you feel, you need to go through with this wedding.”
My fiancé flared up. “I’ll do whatever I want! You can’t push me around like this.”
“We can’t force you to marry someone you don’t love,” his dad replied coolly, “but we can cut you out of the will. The choice is yours.”
His mother then lectured him. “You’re a father now. You need to grow up and be responsible. It was bad enough you had children before marriage, but you can save this by getting married. If you were ready for kids, you’re ready to commit.”
Then, my fiancé started his complaint. He said it wasn’t fair, that he was being coerced into marrying me just so he wouldn’t be disinherited. He lamented that no one in his life ever cared if he was ready for these milestones. I didn’t care if he was ready to be a father, and his parents forced him to stay with me, even though the idea of kids terrified him. Now, they were pressuring him into a marriage he still didn’t feel ready for.
He stormed out, leaving his phone behind. His parents continued discussing how irresponsible he was. That’s when I hung up, stunned.
He had only agreed to marry me because his parents threatened his inheritance. The past year had been a huge, elaborate lie. He wasn’t just a good partner; he was a fabulous actor.
Once I pulled myself together, I made a run for it. Thankfully, the boys were with me. I packed a bag, got in my car, and drove to a hotel out of town. I put my fussy kids to sleep, blocked my fiancé and his family without a word of explanation, and cried the entire night.
The wedding venue and vendors were all paid for by his wealthy parents. It was their idea, so they could suffer the consequences. Before falling asleep, I texted my friends and family that the wedding was off and that I would explain later. I trusted them not to contact his family.
I spent what was supposed to be my wedding day in that hotel room, eating away my feelings and playing with my sons. They were the only people I wanted to see. I was heartbroken, but I had to be strong for them.
A day later, I dropped the kids at my parents’ place and went back to our house to collect my things. My ex was there, looking panicked and sleep-deprived. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been worried sick!”
Without waiting for a reply, he launched into a story about how they had all waited for hours at the venue. He said what I did was unacceptable and that I owed them a public apology because “cold feet” was no excuse to humiliate his family.
I didn’t say much. I just looked at him and said, “I overheard your conversation with your parents the other night.”
He looked confused for a moment, and then realization dawned. He had the good sense to look ashamed. I said nothing more. I walked past him, collected my essentials, and left without another word. I had nothing to say to a man who had lied so completely. I wasn’t interested in being a wife anymore; I just wanted to be a mother.
A week passed in silence. I thought it was over. But a few hours ago, he showed up at my parents’ house, begging to speak to me. My family was skeptical, but I agreed to talk to him one last time in the front yard.
He apologized for everything, insisting that he really did love me, even if he didn’t feel ready for marriage. He said he loved the kids and still wanted to be a part of our lives. He asked for a second chance, a chance to work things out without his parents’ interference.
He’d been lying for almost a year. How could I trust him? I told him I would think about it, but honestly, I was overwhelmed.
After considering everything, and reading many supportive comments from strangers online who heard my story, I knew what I had to do. My emotions had been clouded by my love for the man I thought he was, but I had to put myself and my kids first. There could be no getting back together. Trust was shattered beyond repair.
I hired a lawyer to arrange a custody agreement. I wanted full custody. I was sure he wouldn’t even want the kids, but I knew his conservative, orthodox parents would. They wouldn’t appreciate their son not having custody of their grandchildren and would do everything in their power to fight it.
For three days after our last talk, he didn’t contact me. His claims of wanting to make things work were hollow. He was still the same man, unwilling to change.
When I finally told him my decision—that I was filing for full custody—he didn’t take it well. I expected him to be relieved, but instead, he started arguing. “You can’t do this to me!” he shouted in the middle of the restaurant where we met. “You can break up with me, but you can’t take my kids away!”
Suddenly, the man who never wanted kids was fighting for custody. I knew his parents were pulling the strings again. I asked him if there was something he wasn’t telling me.
He admitted it. After I called off the wedding, his parents told him to make things right. They had accepted I wouldn’t marry him, but they absolutely would not let him lose custody. Once again, they had threatened to cut him off if he didn’t secure a joint custody arrangement.
He was practically begging me, but I was disgusted. He was still dancing to his parents’ tune. He didn’t want to be a father, but he desperately wanted their money. Our kids deserved better. I didn’t even want child support; I just wanted him gone. The last message he sent me was an offer to split his future inheritance with me if I agreed to joint custody. I blocked him everywhere.
It’s been a long while, but I finally have good news. My babies and I have moved into a smaller apartment, a place I can truly call my own. It’s near my parents, and I’ve hired a full-time nanny to help while I work. I’m grateful for my parents’ financial and emotional support.
And now, the part everyone is interested in: my ex.
He signed away his parental rights.
I don’t know what finally changed, but my best guess is that he finally stood up to his parents. A friend told me he moved out of their house. He apologized one last time and offered me money as compensation. I refused. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted nothing more to do with him. Forgiveness is one thing; accepting payment is another. I just want to move on.
I texted him back, saying it was alright but that I’d appreciate it if he didn’t contact me anymore. So far, he has respected that.
Right now, my only focus is on my boys and giving them the best life I possibly can. I have no time for anger or sadness. I’m done with that chapter. I am 100% sure I did the right thing. Having no father is better than having one who never wanted to be a father in the first place.