After my parents’ divorce, I was relieved. Their marriage had been tense for years, and watching them finally separate felt like a weight lifting. But as time passed, I saw how lonely my mom had become. So when she called me one evening, giddy with excitement about a new boyfriend, I was genuinely happy for her.
She invited me to dinner to meet him. All I knew was his name—Aaron—and that he was a pastry chef. Wanting to make a good impression, I splurged on a nice bottle of wine, even though money was tight. At 25, I was saving every penny to open my own restaurant someday.
When I arrived at her house, my mom greeted me with a bright smile. “Casey! We’ve been waiting!” she said, pulling me inside.
Then I saw him.
Aaron stood by the dining table, looking polished in a crisp shirt, his dark hair neatly styled. He couldn’t have been older than me. My stomach dropped.
“Is this a joke?” I blurted out.
My mom’s smile faltered. “Casey, this is Aaron. We’re serious about each other.”
I turned to him, my voice sharp. “What do you even want with her? Her money?”
“Casey!” my mom gasped.
Aaron’s expression darkened. “I love your mother. That’s all there is to it.”
But I wasn’t convinced. “You need to break up,” I snapped.
Mom’s face hardened. “Actually, we’re getting married in two months.”
I stormed out.
For days, I couldn’t shake the image of them together. Was he using her? Was she making a huge mistake? Eventually, I swallowed my pride and called her, pretending to accept their relationship. “I overreacted,” I lied. “If Aaron makes you happy, I’ll support you.”
She was overjoyed. “Help me plan the wedding!” she said.
So I did. I went to dress fittings, tasted cakes, and pretended to be happy for her. But I still watched Aaron closely, searching for any sign that he wasn’t genuine.
Then, the day before the wedding, everything changed.
Mom realized she’d left her phone at home, so I rushed back to get it. While searching, I found a locked drawer in her desk. Curiosity got the best of me—I forced it open.
Papers spilled everywhere.
One caught my eye immediately: a debt notice in Aaron’s name. Then another—property documents with my mom’s name, but signed by Aaron. My heart pounded. This was proof he was after her money!
I raced back to the venue, shoving the papers into my mom’s hands. “Look what he’s doing!”
Her face paled as she read them. Then, quietly, she said, “Casey… these debts are because of you.”
Aaron stepped forward. “Your mom told me about your restaurant dream. We were buying one for you with the wedding money. I covered the costs when we finalized the deal early—that’s where the debt came from.”
The room spun. All this time, I’d been wrong.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Aaron just nodded. “Take your seat. Let’s get married.”
As I sat down, shame washed over me. I’d almost ruined the best thing to happen to my mom in years—all because I couldn’t see past my own assumptions.
