I was at a loss for words as I listened to Shelley’s mother on the phone. The urgency in her voice sent chills down my spine, and I could sense that something was terribly wrong.
Without hesitation, I grabbed my car keys and rushed to her house. When I arrived, Shelley’s mother greeted me with a somber expression, her eyes filled with worry.
“Jen, what’s going on? Why do we need to cancel the wedding?” I asked, my heart racing with apprehension.
She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice trembling with emotion. “Shelley isn’t pregnant, Jen. She made it all up.”
I felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under me. My mind struggled to comprehend her words. How could Shelley lie about something so significant? And why?
Shelley’s mother went on to explain that she had stumbled upon Shelley’s medical records while cleaning her room. To her shock and horror, there was no evidence of a pregnancy.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of the situation sank in. My son had been deceived, manipulated into a marriage under false pretenses. And I had unknowingly played a part in it all by suggesting the DNA test.
Shelley’s mother and I shared a moment of silence, both grappling with the enormity of what had transpired. The wedding was just two weeks away, and now everything was falling apart.
But amidst the chaos and confusion, one thing was clear: my son deserved to know the truth. I had to find a way to tell him, to spare him from a lifetime of regret and heartache.
With a heavy heart, I thanked Shelley’s mother for her honesty and left her house, my mind racing with a million thoughts. As I drove home, I knew that I had a difficult conversation ahead of me, but it was one that needed to happen.
Little did I know, this revelation was just the beginning of a journey filled with twists and turns, a journey that would ultimately lead to the truth and, perhaps, to healing for my family.