I gave everything. Love, loyalty, and my time—believing that I was already part of his family. They called me “our wife,” his mother said, “My son must marry you,” and I trusted her words. So, I served them wholeheartedly—washing clothes, cleaning, and doing chores like a dutiful daughter-in-law.
When his father passed, I didn’t hesitate. I stepped up as his wife. I cut my hair, wore mourning clothes, and stood beside him like a real daughter-in-law. I stitched burial garments, supported the family, and embraced the full weight of their traditions. I thought I was securing my place.
But in the midst of my grief, I noticed another girl. She was around him but never stayed long. I brushed it off—after all, I was the one called “our wife.”
Then, just weeks after the burial, while I was still deep in mourning, hair barely grown back, I heard the news—he was getting married. Not to me. To her.
When I confronted his mother, the same woman who once assured me of my place, she simply said, “I can’t choose a wife for my son. Move on with your life.”
Now, I’m left wondering… How do I move on from this? How do I let go of the love, the sacrifice, and the betrayal? Where do I even begin?
