A One-Day Marriage

I still remember that morning.
Pale golden sunlight streamed through the window, casting its glow on the white wedding dress hanging lightly on the rack. A dress that was supposed to symbolize happiness, but when I looked at it, all I felt was turmoil. In less than twenty-four hours, I would become a wife.

Ethan—my soon-to-be husband, and the first man I had ever dared to trust—was just a factory worker at the industrial zone near the small tailoring shop where I worked. We met in haste, and everything moved too fast. One moment of weakness, and I became pregnant. The wedding, then, became unavoidable.

The night before the ceremony, I happened to borrow Ethan’s phone and saw a message from his mother:

“Don’t think it’s my son’s fault. If she didn’t offer, how could my son push? She got herself pregnant, so she’ll just have to deal with it. My son never wanted this.”

The words pierced my heart like knives.
So that was how she saw me—a schemer trying to “trap” her son. I burst into tears, but when Ethan walked in, I quickly wiped them away. He never knew. Or maybe he pretended not to.

The wedding day was chaos from the start.

I wanted to wear a pure white gown, but my mother-in-law insisted on yellow, claiming it was “good feng shui.” I liked red, but she switched it to white. Even the wedding rings—something I had dreamed of for years—she bought herself without asking. When it came time to exchange rings, mine slipped right off my finger, clattering to the floor with a cold clang in the middle of the ceremony.

Guests whispered loudly enough for me to hear:
“Already bad luck.”
“She doesn’t seem to match the mother-in-law’s energy.”

I bit my lip until it bled, forcing a smile.

Even the wedding cake turned into humiliation. When the hotel staff brought it in, my name was misspelled—Sophia turned into Sonia. I froze, staring at the mocking glances around me. Ethan only shrugged and gave a weak laugh: “Doesn’t matter, as long as there’s cake.”

The bride’s side had everything ready by nine in the morning. The groom’s party didn’t arrive until nearly half past ten. Guests fidgeted, the banquet hall buzzed with noise. And I—the bride—was still being held in a waiting room. The wedding unraveled into a spectacle of disorder.

I had thought the wedding night would be the sweet beginning of our life together. But it wasn’t.

When the last guest left, my mother-in-law stood in front of the bedroom door, her eyes scanning me from head to toe.

“Tomorrow, you’ll wake up early and help me cook,” she said firmly, as if no refusal was possible.

I faltered. “I… I just got married, maybe—”

“Married or not, you’re a daughter-in-law now. In this house, you must know your duties. Six a.m. sharp. I want to see you in the kitchen.”

Ethan stood beside me, silent. I looked at him, waiting—hoping—for him to say something, anything, like “Mom, let her rest tonight.” But he avoided my eyes, scratched his head, and changed the subject.

That night, I cried until the pillow was soaked.

The next morning, before dawn had even broken, I was dragged into the kitchen. Exhausted from lack of sleep, heavy with pregnancy, I trembled as I stood in front of the sink piled high with greasy pots and dirty dishes.

“This is a daughter-in-law’s responsibility,” my mother-in-law said coldly. “Don’t think pregnancy is an excuse for laziness.”

I clenched my teeth, scrubbing one dish after another. The icy water stabbed into my belly, making it ache. I glanced at Ethan, pleading with my eyes. But he just sat on the sofa, eyes glued to the TV.

By noon, I collapsed at the dining table, shaking, heart racing. My mother—who had come to check on me out of worry—was horrified.

“My daughter hasn’t even been married a full day, and you treat her like this?” she shouted, tears streaming down her face.

My father’s face flushed red with rage. “We gave our daughter to be your wife, not your servant. If Ethan can’t protect his own wife, then forget it. We’re taking her home.”

The air exploded into shouting. Both families clashed, voices rising, accusations hurled. My mother-in-law’s shrill voice cut through it all:

“She brought this on herself. Getting pregnant before marriage—what else did you expect?”

I clutched my belly, choking on sobs, staring at Ethan. But he only kept his head bowed, silent—cruelly silent.

And so, less than twenty-four hours after the wedding, my parents took my hands and led me out of that house. My wedding dress hadn’t even been washed. The ring, too large, still dangled loosely on my finger. As I stepped through the doorway, it felt like my whole body was falling into an endless void.

My marriage—supposed to mark the beginning of a new chapter—had ended in just one day.