RIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING — THE MOMENT I WANTED TO DISAPPEAR
My name is David Miller, and I am 35 years old.
At this age, from the outside, people would say my life looks fairly decent. I had work experience, once held a mid-level managerial position at a logistics company in Ohio, spoke well, dressed neatly, and didn’t look bad at all. Recently, I even announced to friends that I was about to marry a young, beautiful woman from a wealthy family.
I was proud of that.
Until the day — just hours before what should have been my “big moment” — when I realized what true humiliation felt like.
1. My First Marriage — Poor, Young, and Full of Mistakes
Very few people know that before becoming the “stable and mature” David Miller, I was once poor, immature, and reckless.
At 24, I got married.
My ex-wife’s name was Anna Brown. We met while attending vocational school. Anna was petite, gentle, quiet, and kind in a way that now feels painfully rare. She loved me with a sincerity that only exists when someone believes love alone is enough.
At that time, I had nothing.
No house. No savings. No stable career.
Yet Anna still said yes.
Our wedding was painfully simple. Our wedding rings were plain bands that cost less than $200. On our wedding day, it was Anna who held my hand and whispered:
“Cheap rings are fine, David. As long as we love each other. When we have money later, we can buy better ones.”
But there was no “later” for us.
Poverty quickly wore down our marriage. I became stressed, irritable, and insecure. Anna worked, took care of our child, and silently endured my temper. When our daughter Lucy was born, the pressure doubled.
When we divorced, our shared “assets” amounted to:
-
A little girl
-
And one old motorcycle we had saved up to buy together
Anna left the marriage with nothing.
Because she was small and not comfortable riding the bike, she left it to me. Lucy was still too young, so the court granted Anna full custody.
On the day we signed the divorce papers, Anna didn’t cry. She looked at me for a long time and said softly:
“I don’t blame you anymore. I just hope you’ll live more decently in the future.”
For years, I didn’t dare think about that sentence.
2. Four Years Without Seeing Each Other
After the divorce, Anna and I lived in the same county, yet for four years, we never met again.
No matter what happened, even when it involved Lucy, Anna never once asked me for help. I knew she struggled, but she chose silence — as if I no longer existed in her life.
At first, I felt guilty.
But work improved, life stabilized, and I convinced myself:
“We’ve both moved on. Why reopen old wounds?”
That was my way of running away from remorse.
3. My Fiancée — Young, Beautiful, and Wealthy
Two years ago, I met Linda Walker.
She was seven years younger, lively, charming, and born into wealth. Her parents ran a real estate business and owned multiple rental properties. She had never worried about money.
Dating a divorced man like me was not easy for her, so I always felt I had to make it up to her.
I spoiled Linda as much as I could. No matter how busy I was, weekends were reserved for her — shopping, dining out, traveling. I wanted to prove that despite my past, I was still “worthy.”
When Linda agreed to marry me, I thought:
“Finally, I get a second chance.”
4. When Covid Changed Everything
Then Covid-19 happened.
My company downsized. I lost my job.
All the money I had saved over the years, I had entrusted to my mother. Unfortunately, she was deceived by a fraudulent real estate brokerage and lost everything.
I couldn’t blame her. She was my mother.
But suddenly, right before my wedding, I was broke.
I told myself:
“I’ll get married first. After that, I’ll find work again.”
5. The $1,300 Rings
That day, I took Linda to buy our wedding rings.
She fell in love with a diamond couple ring set worth nearly $1,300.
My heart sank.
Trying to stay calm, I said:
“Maybe we can choose a cheaper pair for now? When things are better, I’ll buy you a nicer one.”
Linda immediately got upset.
“Wedding rings are something you cheap out on? Do you know you only get married once in a lifetime?”
She refused to consider any other option.
We started arguing in the jewelry store, in front of everyone.
I felt ashamed, frustrated, and powerless.
6. When the Past Walked In
At the peak of the tension, I saw a familiar figure enter the store.
It was Anna.
After four years, she looked like a completely different woman.
Her skin glowed, her posture was confident, and she wore a simple white dress that made her look pure and elegant. She didn’t look worn down at all — she looked peaceful.
Before I could even gather myself to greet her, a man stepped out of a luxury car, walked up to her, and naturally took her hand.
He asked the staff:
“Where’s the diamond necklace I pre-ordered?”
Then, right in front of me, he put the necklace around Anna’s neck, smiling warmly.
At that moment, I wanted to disappear.
7. The Public Humiliation
While I was still frozen, Linda suddenly shouted:
“If you can’t even afford $1,300, don’t talk about marriage! I don’t want a hard life. Have money, then marry me — otherwise forget it. I’m calling off the wedding!”
All eyes turned to me.
My pride as a man was crushed. I was humiliated beyond words.
I snapped:
“Fine. Then it’s off.”
Linda stormed out.
Everything —
every single thing —
was witnessed by Anna.
8. Karma
Standing there in the jewelry store, memories flooded back.
On my first wedding day, Anna had held my hand and said:
“Cheap rings are fine. A simple wedding is enough. Happiness is what matters.”
A woman like that…
I had failed to cherish.
Now she stood beside another man — calm, secure, and loved. And I stood there unemployed, broke, wedding canceled, pride shattered.
That was when I understood:
This was karma.
9. One Week Later — What Should I Do?
More than a week has passed.
Linda hasn’t called.
Hasn’t texted.
The wedding date is approaching. Invitations have already been sent.
I’m a man — should I lower myself and call her?
Or should I remain silent?
For the first time in my life, I’m no longer sure I’m right.
Because some losses don’t come from poverty —
they come from not knowing how to cherish the right person.
