THE NIGHT BEFORE MY REMARRIAGE, MY EX-HUSBAND SHOVED TWO THINGS INTO MY HANDS — I CALLED OFF THE WEDDING IMMEDIATELY AFTER DISCOVERING MY FIANCÉ’S SECRET

My name is Emily Parker.

If anyone ever asks me what makes a woman cautious, guarded, and afraid of happiness, my answer would be simple: a failed marriage at far too young an age.

I got married for the first time when I was eighteen.

At an age when many American girls were still carefree—thinking about college, friends, and dreams—I was already wearing a wedding dress, walking down the aisle under curious stares and whispered gossip.

I was pregnant.

That was the only reason for that marriage.

My ex-husband was Jason Miller, two years older than me. When I told both families about the pregnancy, they rushed the wedding to “save face.” Back then, I was too young to understand that a marriage born out of obligation rarely ends well.

After the wedding, we argued constantly. Jason was still mentally a boy. Even after becoming a husband—and soon a father—he was obsessed with friends, video games, and drinking. I stayed home, my belly growing larger by the day, handling meals and prenatal checkups all on my own.

What hurt me even more than my husband’s indifference was my mother-in-law’s cruelty.

She believed I had deliberately trapped her son with pregnancy. Her cold stares, sharp words, and constant fault-finding crushed me. There were days I went alone to prenatal appointments, only to come home and be interrogated, while Jason was out drinking with friends.

I cried more than I ever thought possible.

When I gave birth to my first child, lying exhausted in the hospital bed, only my own parents came to see me. Jason didn’t show up. Neither did anyone from his family.

When the nurse announced that I had given birth to a baby girl, my mother-in-law didn’t even bother to hide her disappointment. From that moment on, she showed no interest in her granddaughter at all.

The months after giving birth were the darkest period of my life.

I took care of my baby alone, sleep-deprived and emotionally drained. Jason remained unchanged—indifferent to his newborn, irritable at home, and explosive whenever I complained. Once, he slammed the table and threatened me, leaving me trembling as I held my baby and cried through the night.

My mother-in-law always sided with her son, calling me useless and blaming me for everything.

When my daughter was not yet one year old, I finally reached my limit.

I took my child and went back to my parents’ house.

After many sleepless nights, I decided to get a divorce. I left my daughter with my parents temporarily and worked multiple jobs to earn money. Four years later, I saved enough to open a small neighborhood grocery store. I wasn’t rich, but I could provide my daughter with a decent life.

I thought I would remain a single mother forever.

Then I met Daniel Brown.

Daniel came into my life gently, at a time when I no longer believed in men. He pursued me openly, patiently. Knowing I was divorced and had a child, he never hesitated or judged me. He treated my daughter kindly, calling her his “little princess.”

His sincerity touched me.

After more than a year together, I agreed to remarry. I believed that this time, I was mature enough to choose the right person.

I was wrong.

The night before the wedding, as I was organizing my things and preparing for a new chapter of my life, the doorbell rang.

Standing at the door was Jason.

I froze.

I didn’t want to see the man who had hurt me so deeply. But he begged me to listen, his voice hoarse, his eyes no longer carrying the arrogance of the past.

I finally let him in.

Without many words, Jason placed a stack of photos on the table.

After glancing at just a few, my heart nearly stopped.

In the photos was Daniel—my fiancé—intimate with multiple women at the same time. The dim lighting and private setting made it painfully clear that these were not innocent encounters.

My hands shook.

Jason continued quietly:

“He’s been married before. He hid it from you. He cheated, so his wife left him. He has two sons.”

I felt as if the ground had collapsed beneath my feet.

Then Jason pushed a ring into my hand.

My old wedding ring.

The one I had left behind the day I walked out of that marriage, never wanting to see it again.

Jason looked at me, his voice breaking:

“I know I was a terrible husband back then. But I’ve changed. I stopped partying and focused on work. I have a house and a car now. I want to give you and our child a stable life. Can you… give me one more chance?”

I couldn’t say a word.

Everything happened too fast.

That same night, I confronted Daniel. Faced with undeniable evidence, he confessed to everything. No matter how much he explained or begged, I called off the wedding immediately.

As for Jason, he has been trying every day to show his sincerity and make amends.

But I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of repeating the past. Afraid of trusting again.

They say a bird once injured will fear even a bent branch.

And I… no longer know if I still have the courage to love again.