The Wedding Was Called Off by Mum
“Emily, what on earth are you thinking?!” Margaret Harrington shrieked into the phone, her free hand gesturing wildly. “You can’t just cancel the wedding! The guests are invited, the venue is booked!”
“Mum, listen to me for once,” came Emily’s exhausted voice from the other end. “I’m telling you, James isn’t the man I thought he was…”
“What do you know about men at twenty-five?” Margaret snapped. “He’s a good lad—hardworking, doesn’t drink or run around. You won’t find another like him these days!”
“Mum, you’re not listening! He—”
Margaret jabbed the red button and flung her phone onto the sofa. The room fell silent save for the ticking of the mantel clock. She paced the living room, pausing at each framed photo on the shelves—Emily’s toothless grin in nursery, radiant in her white dress at graduation, then the recent one with James, the happy couple in front of the park.
This was nonsense. Cold feet before the big day—perfectly normal. She’d had doubts herself before marrying Emily’s father, and they’d had seventeen happy years before his heart attack.
The phone rang again. James’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hello, Margaret,” came his anxious voice. “Has Emily spoken to you?”
“Yes, love, she has,” Margaret sighed. “Some nonsense about cancelling the wedding. Ignore it—pre-wedding nerves.”
“No, she’s serious. Says she’s changed her mind, that we’re not right for each other. I don’t understand—just yesterday everything was fine.”
Margaret sank into the armchair. Was Emily truly going through with this? After all the effort, the expense? She’d personally chosen the venue, arranged the flowers, booked the photographer. Even the wedding dress—lace and exquisite—had been bought together.
“James, come round to ours,” she said firmly. “We’ll talk it through. Emily’s just scared of commitment—it’ll pass.”
“You think so?” Hope flickered in his voice.
“Of course! Be here in an hour—I’ll talk sense into her.”
After hanging up, Margaret tidied the flat—dusting, vacuuming, boiling the kettle. A cosy atmosphere for a serious conversation.
Emily appeared without knocking—she had her own key. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her hair pulled into a messy bun.
“Mum, why did you call James?” she asked, bypassing pleasantries.
“Sit, love. We’ll talk like adults.” Margaret gestured to the sofa. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Emily slumped onto the cushions, face buried in her hands.
“Mum, I found out something about him… I can’t marry him.”
“What did you find out? Be specific.”
“He’s already married. A wife and child in another city.”
Margaret felt the ground tilt beneath her.
“What? What wife? He’s single!”
“That’s what I thought. Until I saw photos on his phone yesterday. Family pictures. A beautiful wife, a little girl, about five. Captions like ‘my beloved family,’ ‘miss you all.'”
“Maybe it’s his sister and niece? An ex-wife?”
“Mum, I’m not stupid! The photos are recent—last few months. And last night, he called someone, thought I was asleep. He said, ‘Darling, it’ll all be settled soon. This wedding will sort my citizenship, then I’ll come home.'”
Margaret sat beside her daughter. So it was true. James was a fraud, a cad. But the wedding—the guests, the venue, the preparations?
“Em, maybe you misunderstood? Let’s hear him out—”
“Mum!” Emily shot up. “Are you even listening? He’s using me! A sham marriage for a passport! His family’s in Cardiff!”
“But he’s such a good lad,” Margaret murmured weakly. “Brought you flowers, so attentive…”
“Of course he was! He needed a UK passport!”
The doorbell rang. Emily froze as Margaret answered. James stood there, roses in hand, impeccably dressed.
“Hello, my favourite ladies,” he said warmly, offering the bouquet. “Emily, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why cancel our wedding?”
Emily stared silently as Margaret took the flowers and set them aside.
“James, sit,” she said carefully. “We need to talk.”
He settled into the armchair, still smiling. Handsome—dark eyes, perfect teeth, neatly trimmed beard. The son-in-law she’d dreamed of.
“Emily says you’re married,” Margaret stated bluntly.
James faltered for just a second.
“Margaret, what nonsense! Where’d she get that idea?”
“I saw the photos on your phone,” Emily said quietly. “And heard your call.”
“What photos?” He scrolled through his phone. “Oh, these! Emily, that’s my cousin Ann and her daughter! I told you about them!”
“Stop lying,” Emily shook her head. “It said ‘my wife’ under the photo.”
“It’s a joke! We’ve teased each other like that since we were kids. And the call—you must’ve misheard.”
Margaret studied him. Something felt off—his explanations too smooth, too quick.
“Why did Emily hear about citizenship?” she pressed.
James hesitated.
“Well… I do want British citizenship. But not why I’m marrying Emily! I love her!”
“Show me your passport,” Emily demanded.
“Why?”
“If you’ve got nothing to hide.”
He reluctantly handed it over. Emily scanned the pages.
“Look, Mum. Marriage stamp. Eighteen months ago. In Cardiff.”
Margaret took it. There it was—her daughter was right. James was married.
“So what?” James strained for calm. “It was a paperwork marriage—we never lived together.”
“And the child?” Emily asked. “Also paperwork?”
“She was pregnant by someone else when we married!”
“Enough lies!” Emily exploded. “I heard you on the phone—’My daughter’s growing up so pretty, Daddy misses you.'”
James realised the game was up. He slumped back with a heavy sigh.
“Fine. Yes, I have a family. But I want a divorce! And I’m happy with you, Emily. You’re smart, beautiful—”
“And British,” Emily added coldly.
“Why assume the worst? Can’t I love both?”
Margaret watched the handsome liar, fury rising. How dare he deceive her daughter? Play with a trusting girl’s heart?
“Get out of our home,” she said, low and firm.
“Margaret, let’s talk—”
“Get out! And stay away from my daughter!”
James tried to protest, but Margaret stood, pointing to the door.
“Now!”
He rose reluctantly.
“Emily, think about this. We were happy. Why ruin it?”
“Because I won’t be used for a passport,” Emily said. “Or break up a family.”
“What family? My wife and I haven’t been together in years!”
“Then divorce her first,” Margaret cut in. “Now leave!”
Defeated, James grabbed his jacket.
“Call me if you change your mind,” he said at the door.
It slammed shut. Mother and daughter stood alone.
“Forgive me, love,” Margaret hugged Emily. “I wanted you happy—nearly gave you to a scoundrel.”
“Not your fault, Mum. He fooled everyone. Even me, after six months together.”
“What about the guests? The venue?”
“We’ll call them, explain. Decent people will understand.”
Margaret poured tea as dusk settled outside. The kitchen lamp cast a warm glow.
“You know, I always felt something was off,” she admitted. “Too perfect—always agreeable, never argued. Like an act.”
“He tried so hard to impress. Remember with your book club? They adored him.”
“Of course—handsome, charming. But a snake in the grass.”
Emily gave a sad smile.
“And I was over the moon when he proposed. Thought I’d found the one.”
“You will, love. You’re beautiful, clever. The right man will come.”
“I don’t know, Mum. After this… it’s hard to trust anyone.”
Margaret squeezed her hand.
“Don’t think like that. Not all men are liars. Just be careful—take your time.”
“How did you know Dad was the one? Right away?”
“Not straight off,” Margaret smiled. “He courted me a whole year before I agreed to a date. But after that, we were happy.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t rush next time.”
“Exactly. Let a man prove he’s worthy.”
They talked late into the night—about life, love, keeping faith despite heartbreak.
The next day, the gruelling task of cancelling the wedding began. Calls to the venue, forfeiting the deposit. Explaining to each guest.
Aunt Mavis from Bristol was particularly indignant.
“Cancelled? I’ve bought my train tickets! A new dress!”
“Mavis, the groom’s already marriedAs the weeks passed, Emily and her mother found solace in each other’s company, knowing that sometimes, walking away was the bravest choice of all.
