A letter from the past shattered my son’s wedding. To this day, I still haven’t recovered.
Five years ago, when my son Edward first brought Beatrice home, it was clear at once—this was no fleeting infatuation. They shared something rare and unspoken, as if they’d known each other all their lives, though they’d only met a fortnight before. Beatrice was clever, warm, and kind—the perfect match for my boy. I remember thinking then, *At last, he’s found the one.*
But Edward had a past. His former sweetheart, Victoria, still lingered at the edges of his life. Though they’d parted amicably, I sensed she still carried a torch for him. And I’ll admit, I worried Beatrice’s arrival might stir up jealousy.
Yet life took an unexpected turn. Victoria and Beatrice became fast friends. They laughed together, shared confidences, and little by little, my unease faded. The past seemed forgotten, and new happiness felt within reach.
Beatrice settled into our family as though she’d always belonged. She helped in the kitchen, chatted easily with my husband, and won over everyone’s hearts. Even Victoria seemed content—now just an old friend of the family.
When Edward proposed, our joy knew no bounds. The wedding was delayed by the pandemic, but after years of waiting, the day finally arrived. Every detail was perfect: the gown, the seaside banquet, the guest list. We’d dreamed of it with all our hearts.
The evening before, at the rehearsal dinner, the air hummed with love and anticipation. But the next morning, disaster struck—one I never saw coming.
As I put the finishing touches on the venue, I spotted Victoria approaching Edward. They embraced… then she pressed a letter into his hands. I caught her whisper:
*”Read it. Then run.”*
My stomach dropped. Edward paled, tore open the envelope, and skimmed the words. Without a sound, he bolted from the hall, jumped into his car, and sped away.
Whispers, confusion, stunned silence—the guests froze. I marched straight to Victoria.
*”What have you done?”* I hissed.
She only smirked. *”I just opened his eyes about Beatrice.”*
I rushed to Beatrice. Blissfully unaware, she was adjusting her veil, radiant with joy. When I told her what had happened, the colour drained from her face.
She rang Edward again and again. No answer.
The next morning, a broken man, Edward returned. Clutched in his hand was that wretched letter—inside, printed photos of Beatrice supposedly kissing another man in a pub a month before the wedding.
*”She betrayed me, Mum…”* he choked out, eyes brimming.
I studied the pictures, and every instinct rebelled. It all felt too neat, too *staged*.
I persuaded Edward to hear Beatrice out, not to leap to conclusions. My gut whispered: *There’s more to this.*
Beatrice swore she was innocent. The photos were fakes. A cruel mistake. She begged Edward to let her prove it.
Together, they went to the pub where the supposed betrayal had occurred. The manager, moved by their story, let them review the security footage.
The truth emerged: the woman in the video wasn’t Beatrice at all—just someone with a passing resemblance. The man was a stranger. The photos had been skilfully doctored.
The culprit was plain. Victoria’s handiwork.
Edward was shattered. He’d nearly lost the love of his life to a lie spun by a jealous ex.
Beatrice, though vindicated, bore the wound of his doubt—accused of the gravest betrayal.
Edward faced a long road to forgiveness—for himself most of all.
Victoria vanished as abruptly as she’d orchestrated the nightmare. Her malice left scars on us all.
But Edward and Beatrice chose to fight for their love. And though trials still lay ahead, I believe—*truly* believe—what they have will endure.
This ordeal taught me a hard truth: the past doesn’t always stay buried. But the present, if it’s real, can outshine any shadow.
And as his mother, I’ll always stand by them—helping them believe in brighter days to come.