Van’s unexpected appearance at my wedding caused the entire reception hall to fall into stunned silence. Conversations stopped, music softened, and a wave of murmurs spread like wildfire. Everyone could sense something was coming, but no one knew what.
Back in university, I had been considered the “ideal student”—smart, good-looking, and admired by many. But my reality was far less glamorous. My family struggled financially, and I worked part-time jobs late into the night just to afford rent and tuition. Love was a luxury I wasn’t interested in.
Among the girls who admired me, Van stood out the most. She was persistent, kind, and strangely determined to win my affection. She bought me meals when she knew I skipped them, gave me clothes when I couldn’t afford my own, and once even paid part of my school fees without my asking.
I didn’t love her. Truthfully, I didn’t even think about her romantically. But her generosity—and her family’s support—made me feel indebted. Gratitude slowly turned into silent obligation, and before long, I found myself in a relationship I never truly wanted.
After graduation, I wanted to build a life in the city. Van’s parents offered to help me secure a stable job—but only if I married their daughter. Caught between financial survival and emotional truth, I chose security. I entered the marriage knowing my heart wasn’t in it.
Living together only made things clearer. I didn’t feel affection toward Van. I struggled with even the simplest forms of intimacy, and the more she tried to get close, the more distant I became. Our home became a place of routine, not warmth.
Three years passed with no children. Van gently suggested I see a doctor, but I always brushed her off, claiming nothing was wrong. Deep down, I feared the answer. By then, my job was secure, and I no longer needed her family’s help. The marriage—which had never been built on real love—felt suffocating. I convinced myself that leaving was the best choice.
My coldness eventually pushed Van to give up. She signed the divorce papers quietly, without fighting, without demanding anything. The moment she walked out of my life, I felt relief instead of sadness—a clear sign of what our marriage truly had been.
Afterward, I began dating a beautiful business partner I had admired from the sidelines for a long time. She was confident, successful, and everything I believed I deserved. After a little over a year together, we decided to get married.
I never sent Van an invitation. She belonged to a chapter of my life I wanted to forget.
So when she appeared at my wedding unexpectedly—pregnant, elegant, and calm—the entire room turned upside down. Her presence drew every pair of eyes in the venue. My heart dropped into my stomach.
As she approached us, she looked at me with a steady, almost sorrowful gaze and said,
“If I could return to the past, I would never have wasted my youth on a man who never loved me and only took advantage of my money. My greatest regret was marrying you.”
Her words hit me like a slap. Before I could respond, she turned to walk away.
But my bride spoke up.
“Van,” she said firmly, “whose baby are you carrying?”
The question stunned me more than her appearance had. Van and I had been divorced for over a year—there was no chance the child was mine. But the thought that surfaced afterward made my skin crawl.
Why had we never conceived in the three years we were together?
Could it be… me?
Van stopped, turned around slowly, and faced us again.
“For three years,” she said, her voice calm but edged with pain, “we tried to have a child. I begged him to get checked, but he always refused. He implied the problem was mine. Yet every time I went for a checkup, the results were normal.”
My bride’s eyes widened. My throat tightened.
“After the divorce,” Van continued, “I met someone kind. Someone who actually loved me. And on the very first night we were together… I became pregnant.”
The hall fell silent. My bride’s bouquet slipped from her hands and hit the floor with a dull thud.
I couldn’t move. My mind was spinning, trying to deny, trying to reason—but deep inside, I already knew the truth I had avoided for years.
Van walked away with her head high, leaving the entire room buzzing with whispers. I tried to calm my bride, urging her to finish the ceremony. But she pulled her hand from mine as if my touch burned her.
“I can’t do this,” she said, voice trembling. “I want to cancel the wedding.”
“Why?” I asked, panicking.
“My brother and his wife stayed married for nine years without children,” she replied. “They spent their savings on treatments and still ended up divorcing. I’m not repeating their mistake.”
She shook her head, eyes sharp with fear and disappointment.
“A woman loses value every time she marries and divorces. I can’t risk my first marriage being to someone who might never give me a child.”
Her words cut deep. But I couldn’t blame her. I had no right to.
This disaster—this humiliation—was no one’s fault but my own.
My selfishness, my pride, my refusal to listen, my decision to treat Van as a stepping stone instead of a partner… all of it had led me here.
I had planted coldness and deceit, and now the harvest was bitter.
If I had treated Van with kindness…
If I had respected her…
If I had accepted the truth earlier…
I wouldn’t be standing alone at the altar, with my future collapsing and my past finally catching up to me.
This was the price of my own heartlessness—and I paid it in full.