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.
“Did you talk to the doctor, sweetheart?”
I clenched my fists. “Yeah, I did.”
Her smile faltered. “Mom,” my voice cracked, “you’re not sick, are you?”
The room fell into an awful silence.
Her fingers curled against the blanket, and for the first time, I saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Not weakness. Not pain.
Guilt. She didn’t deny it. Tears burned down my cheeks.
“Why?” I whispered. Her lips trembled. “I was afraid, honey.
Afraid you’d leave me. I raised you alone, sacrificed everything for you. And then you met him, and suddenly I wasn’t the center of your world anymore.” Her voice broke.
“I just… I needed you with me.”
The rage that surged through me was unlike anything I’d ever felt. My whole life, she had controlled me, manipulated me. And now, she had stolen the most important moment of my life—out of fear of losing me.
I backed away. “How, how did this happen?” I asked. “The doctors, the prescriptions.” She came clean.
The doctor? He paid him to tell me she was sick. The expensive prescriptions?
She would return them right away and take fake pills while at home. “I can’t do this anymore, Mom,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I can’t.”
Her eyes widened.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving.”
For the first time, I truly meant it. I packed my things that night. I called Colin, sobbing, telling him everything.
He was silent for a long time, then finally said, “Come home.”
So I did. The next few months were a whirlwind of healing, therapy, and trying to rebuild the life I had put on hold. Colin and I started fresh, planning a smaller wedding—just for us, no distractions, no manipulations.
I sent my mother a letter, telling her that I loved her but that I needed space. I wasn’t going to let her guilt or her fear control me anymore. And when I finally stood at the altar, looking into the eyes of the man who had waited for me, who had loved me even when I lost myself, I knew I had made the right choice.
For the first time, my life was mine. Life has a way of testing us, but we get to decide what we do with those tests. If you enjoyed this story, share it with someone who needs to hear it.
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