I grew up believing that my father blamed me for my mother’s death but the truth was heartbreaking.
I never knew my mother, and my father never spoke about her. All I knew was that she had been very beautiful, because of the picture that hung on my father’s study wall, and that she had died very young.
My father was a sad man, a quiet and distant man. I wanted him to notice me, and to love me, but he never did. He rarely spoke to me beyond the perfunctory hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight. I would have given anything for him to sweep me into his arms and tell me he loved me.
The shadow of my mother’s death followed me my whole life | Source: Shutterstock.com
This strange and strained relationship with my father continued until I was 18, and by then I was a sad and lonely young woman who believed my father hated me. If my father didn’t love me, who would?
But the answer to all my questions was about to be delivered in the most painful and cruel way. My father was hosting a party for his business associates, and among them was a woman whom I knew slightly.
If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future.
I had the feeling that she and my father had a past together — or at least that she wished they did. She greeted me and we started chatting — inconsequential talk about nothing special — and my father walked by.
I gave him my best smile, but he immediately glanced away. The woman saw it all. “Do you know why?” she asked.
I grew up feeling that my father hated me | Source: Unsplash
“Why what?” I asked, confused.
“Why he hates you,” she said.
“My father doesn’t hate me!” I exclaimed. “He’s just not a very demonstrative man.”
“So you don’t know…” she smiled. It was the ugliest smile I’d ever seen. I was about to walk away when she said, “He believes you killed your mother, Karen.”
One day at a party someone told me the truth | Source: Unsplash
I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I gasped.
“Your mother died giving birth to you, surely you know that?” she said.
“No…” I answered. “No, I didn’t know.” I turned my back on her and went looking for my grandmother, my father’s mother, the woman who’d raised me and never told me about my mother’s death.
“How did my mother die?” I asked her angrily. “Was it in childbirth?”
My mother had died in childbirth | Source: Pexels
My grandmother shook her head. “Please Karen, your father asked me never to speak of this with you.”
“I have the right to know about my own mother!” I cried. “I have the right to know why my father hates me!”
Then a quiet angry voice behind me said, “I don’t hate you, Karen, but your mother’s death is none of your business:”
I turned to face my father. “My mother’s death is none of my business? You’re wrong! I killed her, didn’t I? That’s what you think each time you look at me!”
My father blamed me for her death | Source: Unsplash
The expression in his eyes sent me running out of the door. I got into my car and drove aimlessly, tears running down my face. In my distress, I didn’t see the oncoming car changing lanes until it was too late.
I woke up in the hospital linked to a beeping machine, with a dull promise of pain twinging through my whole body. Sitting by my side and holding my hand was my father.
“Karen,” he said softly, “Thank God you’re alright!”
“Daddy…” I whispered, “you’re here!”
Tears came into his eyes. “Of course I’m here. I don’t hate you, Karen. I love you. And I don’t blame you for your mother’s death, I blame myself. When your mom and I married we were very poor.
“All we had were dreams and our love for each other. Then she fell pregnant and I took on a second job. I knew we’d need the money when you came along. I was working 16-hour days and she spent a lot of time alone.
“So one day when I came home she wasn’t there. A neighbor had taken her to the hospital. When I got there it was all over. Your mother had died, and I hadn’t been there for her.
The accident nearly cost me my life | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t blame you, Karen, I blamed myself. I was determined I wasn’t going to fail you the way I’d failed her, so I threw myself into my work, and I became a rich man.
“Daddy, how could you blame yourself?” I asked. “There was nothing you could have done!”
“I could have been there, holding her hand the way I’m holding yours now,” he said.
“But daddy…” I hesitated, “you were always so angry with me, so cold. You ran away from me.”
My father and I were reconciled | Source: Unsplash
“Karen, you look just like your mother, and each time I looked at you, my heart was torn apart by grief and guilt. It took nearly losing you to make me realize what I’d done. I love you.”
For the first time in my life, my father put his arms around me and showed me that he loved me. It was a new beginning for both of us, and I like to believe my mother was smiling down from heaven.
What can we learn from this story?
- If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future. Karen’s father was so lost in his pain that he nearly lost the opportunity to have a wonderful relationship with his daughter.
- The truth can heal old wounds and open the way to a new beginning. It was only after Karen and her father spoke about their estrangement that they could move past their misunderstandings.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who left his widowed mother homeless.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone’s life.
I Paid an Actor to Be My ‘Groom’ at a Fake Wedding to Get Revenge on My Ex, but Then We Had a Dramatic Plot Twist
Staging a fake wedding seemed like the perfect revenge on my cheating ex, but I never expected what happened next. As I walked down the aisle with a hired actor as my groom, little did I know how this elaborate charade would completely change the course of my life.
Jack and I had been together for five years. High school sweethearts. We met in sophomore year when we were paired up for a chemistry project. The irony isn’t lost on me now — our chemistry was undeniable from the start.
Late nights studying turned into stolen kisses in the library stacks. Homecoming dances, prom night, graduation — Jack was by my side through it all.
I thought we were rock solid, destined for forever. We had our whole lives planned out: finish college, get married, buy a house in our hometown, start a family. It was a simple dream, but it was ours. Or so I thought.
Then, six months ago, my world shattered. I found out Jack was cheating on me with Emily, one of my best friends since middle school. The betrayal cut deep on both fronts.
I discovered their affair in the most clichéd way possible — walking in on them at Emily’s apartment when Jack was supposed to be “working late.”
The image of them tangled together in Emily’s bed is seared into my brain. I remember every excruciating detail.
I was devastated and furious. How could they both betray me like that? Jack tried to explain, to apologize, but his words were just noise. Emily cried, saying it “just happened” and she never meant to hurt me. As if that made it better.
After the initial shock and sadness wore off, the real torture began. Jack and Emily started flaunting their relationship all over social media. At first, it was subtle — likes and comments on each other’s posts. Then came the cute couple selfies, shots of romantic date nights and inside jokes in the comments.
How could he move on so quickly while I was still picking up the pieces of my broken heart? I was suffering while Jack was living his best life. Each smile, each loving glance captured on camera felt like a personal attack. Didn’t he feel any guilt? Any remorse for throwing away five years together?
That’s when I hatched my crazy revenge plan: a fake wedding. If Jack wanted to show off his new relationship, I’d show him I could do one better. I’d stage the most picture-perfect wedding and flood social media with photos of my “perfect” new life.
I called my friend Kira, the only one I trusted with this insane scheme. “Hey, you still know that actor guy? Tom, right?”
“Yeah, why?” Kira sounded suspicious.
“I need a favor. A big one.”
I outlined my plan to Kira, expecting her to tell me I was crazy. Instead, after a long pause, she said, “You know what? Let’s do it. Jack deserves to squirm a little.”
Two days later, I was sitting across from Tom in a coffee shop, outlining my ridiculous plan. Tom was everything Jack wasn’t — tall, dark-haired, with an easy smile and a mischievous glint in his eye.
“So let me get this straight,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You want me to pretend to be your groom at a fake wedding?”
I nodded, feeling a bit ridiculous but still determined. “I know it sounds crazy, but after what Jack did… I need this.”
“I’m in,” Tom interrupted, grinning. “Sounds like fun. Plus, it’ll be great practice for my acting reel.”
Over the next few weeks, I threw myself into wedding planning with a fervor that surprised even me. Every decision was made with social media in mind. How would this look in photos? What would make Jack and Emily the most jealous?
I chose a venue that I knew Jack had always loved — a picturesque barn on the outskirts of town. My dress was a designer knock-off, but in photos, it would look like I’d splurged on the real thing. I even went as far as to hire a professional photographer friend to capture every moment of our “special day.”
“You sure about this?” Kira asked as we picked out flowers. “It’s not too late to back out.”
“Absolutely,” I lied, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. Was I taking this too far? But then I’d remember Jack and Emily’s latest couples post — a sunset beach pic with the caption “Never been happier” — and my resolve would harden.
The day of the fake wedding arrived, bringing with it a flurry of activity. Hair, makeup, last-minute decorations — it all felt surreal. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my veil, when Tom knocked on the door.
“Ready to get fake married?” he grinned, looking dashing in a tailored tux.
I took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
The ceremony was surprisingly convincing. Tom played his part perfectly, his vows so heartfelt I almost believed them myself. As we exchanged rings and sealed our “union” with a kiss, I couldn’t help but think of Jack. This was supposed to be us, once upon a time.
After the ceremony, we posed for countless photos. Tom’s arm around my waist felt oddly comforting. We laughed and joked between shots, our chemistry apparent even through the lens.
“You’re a natural,” I murmured as we smiled for another shot.
“What can I say? I’m a method actor,” he winked, pulling me close for a staged romantic moment.
The reception was a whirlwind of fake toasts, first dances, and cake cutting. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but beneath the act, I felt a genuine lightness I hadn’t experienced in months.
That night, I posted a flurry of wedding photos on social media. “Found my true love,” I captioned one. “New beginnings,” on another. My finger hovered over the post button for a moment before I pressed it decisively. This was it. My grand gesture of moving on.
It didn’t take long for my phone to explode with notifications. Friends congratulating me, family members confused — and then, Jack.
“You couldn’t wait to flaunt your new guy? Pathetic,” his message read.
I smirked, feeling a twisted sense of satisfaction. But as I lay in bed that night, doubt crept in. What had I really accomplished? Was this elaborate charade really going to make me feel better?
The next morning, I met Tom for coffee to debrief. As we talked, I found myself opening up about Jack, the betrayal, and how lost I’d felt these past six months. Tom listened with genuine empathy, offering insights I hadn’t considered.
“You know,” he said, stirring his latte thoughtfully, “sometimes the best revenge is just being happy. Really happy, not this fake Instagram version.”
His words struck a chord. We ended up talking for hours, long after our coffee had gone cold. Tom was funny, kind, and surprisingly easy to talk to. As we said goodbye, I found myself wishing our time together wasn’t just an act.
Over the next few weeks, Tom and I kept in touch. What started as casual meetups to maintain our “newlywed” facade for social media turned into real dates. It felt natural, effortless, nothing like the performance we’d put on for my revenge scheme.
We went hiking, tried new restaurants, spent lazy Sundays binge-watching TV shows. I found myself laughing more and thinking about Jack less. The pain was still there, but it was dulled, overshadowed by this new, unexpected connection.
“So,” Tom said one night over dinner, about two months after our “wedding,” “are we going to talk about how our fake relationship turned into a real one?”
I laughed, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. “I guess we should, huh?”
We decided to give it a shot, for real this time. But our unconventional start didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you sure about this?” Kira asked when I told her. “It’s not just part of the act?”
“It’s real,” I assured her. “Unexpected, but real.”
Of course, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. When the truth about our fake wedding came out — as secrets inevitably do — we faced backlash from friends and family who felt deceived. Jack even tried to use it as ammunition, painting me as unstable and manipulative.
But Tom stood by me through it all. We weathered the storm together, emerging stronger on the other side. And slowly, people came around, seeing the genuine happiness we’d found in each other.
As I reflected on everything that happened, I couldn’t help but marvel at the journey. What started as a misguided attempt at revenge led me to true love and personal growth I never expected.
I realized that the best revenge wasn’t about making Jack jealous — it was about finding genuine happiness for myself.
Life has a funny way of working out sometimes. And while I wouldn’t recommend staging a fake wedding as a path to happiness, I can’t regret the choices that led me here — to Ryan, to love, and to a future brighter than I ever imagined.
What would you have done? If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you about a woman whose best friend refused to believe her husband was cheating on her, so she set up a foolproof trap, unprepared for the explosive consequences.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Leave a Reply