My Mother Objected at My Wedding, This Man Is Not Good Enough! My Fiances Response Made Her Run
I never expected to meet my soulmate on the metro, but that’s where Brian and I found each other. It was late, nearly midnight, and the train car was nearly empty except for a few weary commuters. I was exhausted from a long 12-hour shift at the hospital and just trying to stay awake. That’s when I noticed him across the aisle—completely absorbed in a worn copy of The Great Gatsby, his brow furrowed in concentration.
There was something magnetic about how he sat there, in his faded hoodie and sneakers, totally unbothered by the world around him. I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him, and when our eyes met, I quickly looked away, my cheeks flushing.
“Fitzgerald has that effect on people,” he said with a smile. “Makes you forget where you are.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I admitted. “Never read it.”
His eyes widened. “Never? You’re missing out. It’s one of the greatest American novels.”
“I guess I don’t have much time for reading these days,” I said, feeling a little embarrassed.
We didn’t exchange numbers that night. I figured it was just a pleasant encounter with a stranger. But then fate intervened.
A week later, during evening rush hour, the train was packed. I stood clutching the overhead rail, trying to maintain my balance, when suddenly I felt a sharp tug on my purse. Before I could react, a man had yanked it from my shoulder and was shoving his way toward the doors.
“Hey! Stop him!” I shouted, but no one moved.
No one, except Brian.
He appeared out of nowhere, lunging past startled passengers. The doors opened at the next stop, and both men tumbled out onto the platform. I pressed my face against the window, watching in shock as they struggled on the ground. By the time I managed to squeeze through the doors, the thief had run off, and Brian was sitting on the ground, my purse in hand, with a small cut above his eyebrow.
“Your book recommendation service is dramatic,” I said, helping him up.
He laughed, handing me my purse. “I still owe you a copy of Gatsby.”
We went for coffee to clean up his cut, and one coffee turned into dinner, dinner into a walk home, and that walk led to a kiss at my doorstep that left me breathless. Six months later, we were madly in love. But my mom, Juliette, had never liked him.
“A librarian, Eliza? Really?” she scoffed when I told her about Brian. “What kind of future can he provide?”
“The kind filled with books and happiness,” I replied, feeling defensive.
She rolled her eyes. “Happiness doesn’t pay the bills.”
My mom had always tried to project an image of wealth, name-dropping at dinner parties and embellishing our vacations. When Brian proposed with a simple sapphire ring, I was over the moon.
“It reminds me of your eyes,” he said, and I loved it immediately.
But when I showed it to my mom, she hissed, “Not even a full carat?”
“Mom, I love it,” I insisted.
She pursed her lips. “Well, I suppose it can be upgraded later.”
The first dinner with Brian and my family was an awkward disaster. My mom was decked out in her finest jewelry, talking incessantly about her “dear friend” who owned a yacht in Monaco, someone I suspected didn’t exist. Brian, on the other hand, was polite, complimenting our home, asking thoughtful questions about Mom’s charity work, and even bringing an expensive bottle of wine my dad appreciated.
“Where did you find this?” Dad asked, eyeing the label.
“A small vineyard in Napa,” Brian replied. “The owner’s an old family friend.”
Mom snorted. “Family friends with vineyard owners? How convenient.”
“Mom, please…” I warned.
Later, Dad pulled me aside. “I like him, Eliza. He’s got substance.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“He’ll grow on your mother,” Dad said with a wink, though I could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “Just give her time.”
The months before the wedding were tense. Mom made snide remarks, questioning Brian’s family’s absence.
“They’re private people,” I explained.
She mocked his career. “Books are dying, you know.”
And she even took shots at his clothes. “Doesn’t he own anything that isn’t from a department store?”
The night before the wedding, she cornered me in my childhood bedroom.
“It’s not too late to call this off,” she said, sitting at the edge of my bed. “People would understand.”
“I love him, Mom,” I said, staring at her, confused.
“Love doesn’t last, Eliza. Money does,” she said, shaking her head. “I raised you for better things.”
“At least Dad raised me to be happy,” I snapped.
Her face hardened. “I swear I’ll behave tomorrow. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I begged her to promise not to make a scene. She swore she would act in my best interest. I should have known then that she had something up her sleeve.
Our wedding day was breathtaking. The venue, a historic library, was Brian’s dream. I walked down the aisle lined with rose petals, my dad beside me. Brian was waiting at the altar, looking more handsome than ever. His eyes filled with tears as I approached.
The ceremony was going perfectly until the officiant asked, “If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
The room went silent. Then, the rustling of fabric. My heart sank as I turned to see my mother standing, her face grave. The room gasped in unison.
I whispered, “Mom, what are you doing?”
She ignored me, turning to the guests. “I love my daughter, but this man—” she pointed at Brian as though he were an inconvenience—”isn’t good enough. She could have had a doctor, a lawyer… someone with real success. Instead, she’s throwing her future away on… this.”
The room fell into stunned silence. My dad’s face went pale. My friends whispered among themselves. The officiant seemed utterly lost.
Brian, however, simply smiled. He squeezed my hand, then turned to face my mother.
“You’re right,” he said calmly. “She deserves the best.”
Mom smirked, thinking she had won. But Brian pulled out a folded document from his suit pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, her voice suddenly faltering.
“Do you recognize this?” Brian asked, his voice steady. “It’s the credit report you failed to mention.”
My mother’s eyes widened in shock as she read. “I ran a check,” he continued. “Turns out, the woman who brags about wealth is actually drowning in debt and has a second mortgage no one knows about.”
The guests were silent. My heart pounded as the truth hit my mom like a freight train.
“Brian,” I whispered, astonished.
“You’re drowning in credit card debt, Mom. And last month, you were denied a loan,” Brian added, still calm. “And you wonder why I don’t fit your idea of rich. Well, here’s the thing—I’m a billionaire.”
The crowd gasped. Dad nearly choked. My mom staggered back, her heels nearly giving out.
“I never wanted anyone to love me for my money,” Brian explained. “I wanted to be loved for who I am. And your daughter? She never once cared about my wealth.”
My mother could only tremble, speechless. I stood in stunned silence, processing it all.
“Is this true?” I asked, barely able to believe it.
He smiled at me. “Yes. I own the library where I work—and several others across the country. I just didn’t want you to marry me because of my fortune.”
“Are you angry?” he asked quietly.
“No,” I said softly. “A little that you kept this from me, but I understand why you did.”
He took my hands in his. “Do you still want to marry me?”
I didn’t hesitate. “More than ever.”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as we kissed right there at the altar.
My mother, humiliated, turned and stormed out.
Later that night, as we danced under the stars, my phone buzzed with a message from Dad: “Your mother won’t be speaking to you for a while. But between us? I’ve never been more proud of you. Brian is the kind of man I hoped you’d find—one who values you above everything else.”
I showed Brian the message, and he smiled. “Your dad’s a wise man.”
“Unlike my mother,” I sighed.
Brian pulled me closer. “You know, in all the great novels, the villains aren’t evil because they’re rich or poor. They’re evil because they value the wrong things.”
“Is that from Gatsby?” I teased.
“No,” he laughed. “That one’s all mine.”
As we swayed together under the twinkling lights, surrounded by love and books, I realized that true wealth isn’t measured in bank accounts—it’s in the courage to live authentically and love completely. My mother may never understand that, but I had found a partner who embodied it perfectly, and that made me the richest woman in the world.
