My Mother Stopped My Proposal

On Mother’s Day, a woman who claimed to be my mother from three years in the future pushed open my front door. I looked at her, a faint, desperate hope fluttering in my chest, and whispered, “Mom… Wright and I… are we happy after the wedding?” Her face was deathly pale. She grabbed my arm, her grip bruising and desperate. “Ruth, you have to break up with Wright. Right now.” “He’s using you, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a placeholder to him. The only woman he’s ever loved is your stepsister, Hailey.” “He tricks you into a fake marriage. You end up severely depressed, and Hailey spends years rubbing it in your face, mocking you at every turn.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, the breath trapped in my throat. With trembling hands, my mother pulled out her phone and played an audio recording. Wright’s voice came through the speaker. It was that lazy, slow drawl of his—casual, effortless, and utterly devastating. “She’s just a stand-in,” he said, his tone dripping with indifference. “Being with her is just something to pass the time when I’m bored. So what if the marriage license is fake? She doesn’t need to know, and she’s more than willing anyway. Sure, there’s someone else in my heart, but I’ve given Ruth respect, money, everything she could want. It’s not like I’m cheating her out of anything.” That voice. The familiar cadence that used to make me feel safe now made my knees buckle. I had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. “Don’t hesitate, Ruth,” my mother whispered, her voice shaking. “He’s going to propose to you on May eleventh. If you wait until then, it will be too late to escape.” I glanced at the calendar on the wall. A bitter, cold ache spread through my chest. Today was May eleventh. 1 A knock rattled the door. My mother slipped quickly into the shadows of the hallway, her voice a hushed, urgent warning. “That recording… you’re the one who sent it to me, three years from now. But by then, you were already pregnant. It was too late to untangle yourself. Remember, Ruth—do not say yes to him!” A profound sense of absurdity washed over me, tight and suffocating. Wright and I had been together for five years. Five years of what I thought was pure devotion. He catered to my every whim. He called me whenever he went out, wired me money without a second thought, and had even declared publicly that I was the only woman he ever wanted to marry. But now, hearing those words from his own mouth… I was just a surrogate. I wanted so badly for this to be a nightmare. The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time. I opened the door. A delivery courier stood there, holding a massive arrangement of nine hundred and ninety-nine red roses. Perched precariously on top was a velvet ring box. My body felt entirely numb as I took the flowers and brought them inside. A second later, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was Wright. His voice was flat, practical. “Ruth, things are crazy at the office right now, and I can’t slip away. Just put the ring on yourself, okay?” The words washed over me like a bucket of ice water. I went cold all over. A proposal—a once-in-a-lifetime moment—and he couldn’t even bother to show up? He sent it via courier? “No,” I said, my voice tight. “You need to come here. Otherwise, I’m not saying yes.” A heavy, impatient sigh came through the receiver. “Stop being difficult, Ruth. I told you, I’m busy. I got you the ring and the flowers. You’ve always been the sensible one. Don’t start disappointing me now.” The call was on speaker. My mother rushed out of the shadows and violently tapped the screen, cutting off the call. “Do you see it now?” she cried, her eyes wide with pain. “Do you see him for what he really is?” My heart shattered. Suddenly, a flood of memories rushed back, but they were different now—stripped of the romantic veneer I had painted over them. I remembered waking up early to brew his favorite coffee, only for him to sip it and frown, saying it was too weak, that Hailey made it better. I remembered trying to learn how to ride a bicycle, falling repeatedly until my knees were black and blue. He had laughed at me, calling me clumsy and uncoordinated, pointing out how graceful Hailey had always been. I remembered spending half the night baking a birthday cake from scratch, only for him to take one bite, call it too sweet, and complain that I didn’t even know his basic preferences. In five years of being together, he had done nothing but criticize and chip away at my self-esteem. The only praise he ever offered me—the only label he deemed fit to give me—was “sensible.” My mother saw the raw, quiet grief in my eyes. She grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door. “Don’t waste another tear on him. Come on, I’m taking you out.” She tried to give me a watery, encouraging smile. “What is it you kids say these days? Out with the old, in with the new? No room for sad, only room for bad. I’m paying. Today, we leave all this misery behind and let you actually have some fun.” As we reached the door, she whispered, “I’ll follow you, but I can’t let him see me. Wright is paranoid. If he catches on to me, the timeline might forcibly drag me back.” We went to a high-end lounge downtown. The lighting was low and hazy, the bass humming through the floorboards. As soon as we sat down in our private booth, a line of handsome young men filed in. One gently massaged my shoulders; another poured me a drink with practiced grace. I sat there like a statue, stiff and painfully out of place. It was awkward, overwhelming, and utterly bizarre. The young man beside me stood up to hand me a glass of champagne, but his foot caught on the edge of the rug. He stumbled, losing his balance. My instincts kicked in, and I reached out to steady him. But the moment my fingers brushed his arm, the heavy oak door of the VIP suite was slammed open with a deafening crash. 2 Wright stood in the doorway, his face twisted in a dark, terrifying scowl. Without a word, he marched over, grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip, and dragged me out of the room. He slammed me against the corridor wall, his chest heaving with a volatile mix of fury and wounded pride. “Ruth Collins, I really underestimated you.” “You hang up on me, and then you come to a place like this? What is this, some kind of hard-to-get game? You think you’re being clever?” My eyes burned, hot tears threatening to spill. “Let go of me!” I spat. “How did you even know I was here? Have you been tracking me?” A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a harsh glare. “Yeah, I was! You’re my fiancée, Ruth. I have every right to know where you are.” I let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Fiancée? What kind of man proposes through a delivery guy?” Wright’s eyes filled with dismissive arrogance. “Give it a rest. I’m offering to marry you. Isn’t that enough?” That sentence punctured the very last of my illusions. How had the man I once shared everything with become this stranger? Back in college, we used to sneak out past curfew, sitting on the curb of some quiet street all night. We talked about everything—the stars, the future, our smallest fears, our grandest dreams. It felt like we had a lifetime of words to share. But now, even with him standing inches away, it felt like we were separated by a thick, bulletproof glass wall. The warmth of our relationship had died a long time ago, washed away by the exhaustion of his work and the daily grind of his dismissive apathy. People were staring at us in the busy hallway, whispering. I struggled against his grip, but he only tightened his fingers, refusing to let go. Five years of swallowed pride and quiet humiliation boiled over. I raised my free hand and slapped him, hard, across the face. The slap echoed. His head snapped to the side. He stayed like that for a few seconds, silent, before turning back to me. This time, there was a patronizing, indulgent look in his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered, adjusting his collar. “That slap is your free pass for tonight. Are we even now? If you’ve got it out of your system, come home with me. I’ll make it up to you.” I turned to walk away, but out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my mother ducking behind a pillar at the end of the hall. I knew Wright. If I pushed him too hard right now, he would make a scene, cause a public spectacle, and refuse to let me go. But my mother’s presence was too risky. If he noticed her, or if anyone realized what she was, the consequences could be disastrous. I clenched my jaw, swallowing my rage. I stopped running and quietly followed him to his car. During the silent drive, I surreptitiously texted my mother. Mom, are you okay? Where are you? She replied almost instantly. I’m fine, sweetie. Play along for now. Don’t escalate things with him. Don’t worry about me—I have a safe place to stay. A second later, she sent a photo. In the image, my future mother and my present mother stood side-by-side, smiling warmly at the camera. Two identical versions of the woman who loved me, both fighting with everything they had to save me. A lump formed in my throat, and a soft, bittersweet smile touched my lips. Wright leaned over, trying to peer at my screen. “What’s so funny? What are you looking at?” I clicked the power button, locking the screen instantly, and turned my face to the dark window. “Nothing.” 3 The moment we got back to the penthouse, Wright went into the master bathroom to take a shower. I waited until the water started running, then quietly began searching through the drawers in the study. My fingers shook as I pulled open the very bottom drawer. Tucked deep beneath a stack of documents was a small, red booklet. A marriage certificate. I opened it. There was a photo of Wright and me against a red background, stamped with an official-looking seal. But when I touched the paper, I realized it was a cheap, fabricated replica. Just as my future mother had said. He had prepared this long ago. He never had any intention of giving me a real, legal marriage. I took a deep breath, slipped the fake certificate back exactly where I found it, and closed the drawer. Next, I picked up Wright’s phone from the nightstand. He hadn’t changed his passcode. I unlocked it and opened his social media feed. My heart plummeted into a cold, dark abyss. It was a post from Hailey, my stepsister. She had posted a photo just over an hour before my flowers arrived. It showed a stunning diamond ring nestled in a luxurious velvet box, surrounded by a sea of fresh roses. Her caption read: Someone popped the question today! I told him the flowers and the ring weren’t quite my style, and guess what? He immediately ran out to buy me the latest designer diamond ring just to show his commitment. Should I say yes? I stared at the photo. The wrapping of the bouquet, the velvet box… they were identical to the ones the courier had dropped off at my door. Except mine was the rejected draft. He had spent his afternoon running from mall to mall, desperately trying to find the perfect ring for Hailey. And the one he sent me? Just an afterthought. A leftover from his failed attempt to please her. A wave of profound nausea washed over me. I remembered when I first met Wright. Hailey had just secured a scholarship to study abroad and had left the country. Back then, he used to stare at me for hours, lost in thought. When I asked him why, he would smile and say, “Because you’re beautiful.” Now, the sickening truth was clear. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking through me, searching for the ghost of Hailey. I was a substitute. A warm body to keep his bed comfortable until the girl he actually wanted came back. The night was pitch black outside, but my mind had never been clearer. The last lingering ember of my love for him died right then. I wanted nothing more than to pack my things and disappear. The bathroom door opened, and Wright stepped out, towel-drying his damp hair. Seeing me standing in the middle of the room, he smiled and walked over, reaching out to wrap his arms around my waist. I took a deliberate step backward, out of his reach. My voice was quiet, steady, and entirely devoid of emotion. “Wright, we’re done. I’m leaving you.” The smile on his face faltered for a fraction of a second, but then he chuckled, stepping closer again. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice dropping into that soft, coaxing tone he always used when he wanted to smooth things over. “Still mad, babe? Look, I’m sorry. I messed up today.” “I promise I’ll make it up to you this weekend. Just you and me, okay?” I closed my eyes, a heavy numbness settling over my chest. It was always the same. Every time he crossed a line, his apologies were swift and effortless. He knew exactly how to play the sweet, regretful boyfriend—soft words, sweet promises, endless charm. But he never actually changed. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn’t care. Because he was absolutely certain that I would never leave him. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a flurry of urgent texts from my mother. Ruth, please don’t let him sweet-talk you! If you stay, you’ll end up broken. The depression will consume you. I’ve already booked our train tickets. We leave in two days. We’re going to get out of this city and never look back. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I typed a single word: Okay. 4 Wright didn’t take my breakup seriously. To him, it was just another tantrum. The very next morning, he announced that we were going to a luxury furniture outlet to pick out pieces for our new house. I was exhausted, drained of any desire to play along, and wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and count down the hours until my departure. But he practically dragged me out of the apartment and into his car. When I opened the passenger door, my stomach dropped. Hailey was already sitting in the front seat. She was perfectly made up, offering me a sweet, victorious smile. “Hey, Ruth. I wanted to look at some furniture for my new place too. You don’t mind if I tag along, do you?” Wright immediately shot me a tense, warning look, silently pleading with me not to make a scene and ruin the mood. When I climbed into the back seat without a word, I saw him visibly relax. “See? I knew my Ruth would be cool with it,” he said smoothly, starting the engine. “That’s my sensible girl. Exactly the kind of grace a future Mrs. Campbell should have.” He offered a casual explanation as he drove. “Hailey is family, Ruth. She’s going to be visiting our place a lot, so I figured we should get her input.” Family. The daughter of the woman my father had cheated on my mother with. I had to admire their acting skills. If I hadn’t heard that recording, I would still be the blind fool playing my part in their little drama. I kept my mouth shut and stared out the window. At the massive showroom, Wright was bursting with enthusiasm, painting a picture of our future home. He ran his fingers over a plush velvet sofa, his voice dropping into that gentle cadence. “We should get a soft couch like this. You love curling up to watch your shows. This will keep your back from aching.” “And we’ll do solid oak flooring in the study. It feels much warmer underfoot.” “We’ll install heated floors throughout the whole house, too. You hate the cold.” He spoke with such apparent tenderness, as if he had spent nights thinking about my comfort. But I noticed where his eyes went. Every single thing he described—the binge-watching, the preference for oak flooring, the poor circulation and hatred of winter—belonged to Hailey. When we reached the mattress section, his bias became impossible to hide. He turned directly to Hailey, ignoring me entirely. “What do you think of this one? Is it soft enough? Could you sleep comfortably on this?” The sales associate smiled, her eyes darting between Wright and Hailey. “You two make such a gorgeous couple, and your taste is impeccable. This mattress is top-tier; it won’t sag even after years of use.” Wright stiffened slightly, casting a brief, guilty glance in my direction, but he didn’t offer a single word of correction. A cold, mocking smile touched my lips. My heart was a frozen wasteland. Suddenly, a massive wooden display shelf nearby groaned. The heavy brackets holding it together snapped, and the entire structure began to tilt, collapsing directly toward Hailey and me. We both screamed, pinned by the shadow of the falling timber. Without a single second of hesitation, Wright lunged forward. He threw his entire body over Hailey, pulling her into his chest and shielding her with his back as the heavy shelves came crashing down. He didn’t look at me. Not even once. The sharp edge of a wooden plank scraped violently down my forearm, leaving a raw, stinging red gash. The sales staff rushed over, frantically lifting the debris. Only then did Wright let go of Hailey, his hands shaking as he checked her face and shoulders for injuries. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?” he gasped. He never looked at my arm. Not once did he check to see if I was bleeding. And Hailey, tucked safely under his arm, looked over his shoulder and flashed me a cold, triumphant smirk. On the drive back, the silence inside the car was suffocating. I quietly pulled out my phone and sent a text to my future mother. Everything is packed. We leave tomorrow. Back at the penthouse, I began quietly putting my clothes into a suitcase. Wright leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching me. It was only then that his eyes fell on the red scrape on my arm. “Ruth… about today. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” “It was just reflex. Hailey was in a worse spot, and she’s always been fragile. She can’t handle getting hurt.” I zipped the suitcase shut, my voice completely flat. “You don’t need to explain.” I stood the suitcase up and pushed it into the corner of the closet. Wright frowned slightly. “Maybe a trip is a good idea. Go clear your head for a few days. I’ll wire you some money so you can treat yourself.” I didn’t answer. I suppose in his mind, I was still the sensible, easily mollified Ruth who would always come crawling back. He was so utterly confident in my devotion that he didn’t even bother to ask where I was going. He assumed this was just another short vacation to cool my temper. He would never know. This time, there was no coming back.

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