When my parents divorced, I was relieved despite loving them both—their marriage had been strained. Years later, I encouraged my lonely mom to date again. She soon introduced me to Aaron, her boyfriend and a pastry chef my age. I arrived at her house for dinner with wine, nervous but hopeful, only to be shocked by his youth. Anger flared—I accused him of chasing her money and demanded they break up. She revealed they were engaged, and after a heated argument, I stormed out.
Days later, I pretended to reconcile, helping plan their wedding while secretly doubting Aaron. Just before the ceremony, I found debt notices and property papers in his name at her house. I burst into the venue to stop the wedding, but Mom explained the debts were from buying me a restaurant—a dream they’d kept secret. Ashamed, I apologized to them both. Aaron calmly asked me to take my seat, and I did, humbled by my mistake.
