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Until recently, I battled cancer—months of chemo drained my strength and took my hair. Then one day, my doctor finally said, “You are healthy.” On that same day, my beloved proposed, and I tearfully said “yes.”
We planned the wedding, though my hair never grew back. I bought a wig, hoping no one would notice. On the big day, I walked into the church in my white dress, heart pounding. Everything was perfect—until my mother-in-law approached. She’d never liked me, believing I couldn’t give her son children.
Without warning, she ripped off my wig, laughing: “Look! She’s bald!” Laughter and shocked whispers filled the room. I stood frozen, humiliated—until my groom’s voice cut through.
“Mom, you’re leaving. You don’t respect my choice or my family.” She left in silence, ashamed. My husband held my hand and whispered, “We’re together. Everything will be fine.”
