When Colin proposed, I said yes without hesitation. He was perfect—kind, supportive, and so deeply in love with me that it felt like a dream. We had been together for three years, and every moment with him was effortless.
Planning our wedding was exhilarating. Every little detail, from the flowers to the venue, was coming together beautifully. Then, my world came crashing down.
My mom got sick. She had always been a huge presence in my life—controlling, overbearing, but also my rock. My dad had left when I was just a kid, and ever since, it had always been just the two of us.
She made every decision for me, from the clothes I wore to the college I attended. Even as an adult, I found myself seeking her approval for everything. I knew she loved me, but sometimes, her love felt suffocating.
When she was diagnosed, the wedding suddenly didn’t matter. Every penny of our savings went into her treatment. Colin was unbelievably understanding, even though I could see the disappointment in his eyes when we had to cancel the wedding.
Months passed, and she wasn’t getting any better. I barely left her side. I quit my job, drained my savings, and became her full-time caretaker.
The wedding dress, the invitations, the venue—all of it became a distant memory. My life revolved around doctor’s visits, medications, and sleepless nights. And then, the moment that changed everything.
I had taken her test results to another doctor—Dr. Green, one of the best in town—hoping for a new treatment plan, something that could save her. He studied the documents carefully, his brows knitting together in confusion.
Then, he went pale. I felt my stomach drop. “Dr.
Green?” My voice shook. “What is it? God, is it really that bad?”
He hesitated, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
“Miss… has no one told you yet? I don’t know how to say this, but… your mother isn’t sick.”
The words hit me like a truck. I let out a shaky laugh.
“What? No, that’s not possible. We’ve been to specialists.
She’s been in and out of hospitals. I’ve spent thousands on her treatments.”
Dr. Green sighed, flipping through the paperwork.
“I don’t know what the other doctors told you, but there is nothing physically wrong with your mother. These tests…” He tapped the pages. “They don’t show any illness.
No cancer. No degenerative disease. Nothing.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“She—she has symptoms!” I protested. “Fatigue, dizziness, pain—”
He nodded. “Some people experience those symptoms due to psychological reasons.
Munchausen syndrome, or even just extreme anxiety. But I can tell you for sure, there is no medical condition here that required treatment. Whoever prescribed those expensive treatments—” He shook his head in disgust.
“I’d report them.”
My legs gave out, and I collapsed into the chair. It was all a lie. The canceled wedding.
The drained savings. The years of my life lost to taking care of her. All for nothing.
I walked out of that office in a daze, my ears ringing. The moment I stepped into my mom’s house—because of course, I was still living with her—I found her resting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a fragile doll. She smiled weakly.
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