My Mother Kicked Me Out of the Church for Getting Pregnant Out of Wedlock

The day I revealed my pregnancy in church started with morning sickness and ended with my mother disowning me. But what happened next made my mother change her decision.

I’m a sophomore in college studying psychology, and that’s where I met Glenn last fall. We started out as study buddies in our Intro to Research Methods class, but there was something special about him from day one.

He had this gentle way of explaining complex topics that made everything click, and his smile? It could light up the whole lecture hall.

A boy smiling | Source: Midjourney

A boy smiling | Source: Midjourney

“Faith, you’re starin’ again,” he’d tease me during our study sessions, and I’d feel my cheeks burn red every single time.

“Can’t help it if you’re distracting,” I’d shoot back, and we’d both laugh like we had the best secret in the world.

We went from sharing coffee after class to spending hours at the campus diner. We’d pick at endless plates of waffle fries while sharing our life stories.

A girl sitting in a cafeteria | Source: Midjourney

A girl sitting in a cafeteria | Source: Midjourney

Glenn told me a bit about his family and how he enjoyed playing in the fields as a kid. Meanwhile, I opened up about losing my dad when I was five. That’s when things started shifting from friendship to something more.

“Your dad would be so proud of you,” Glenn said one evening, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Following your dreams, helping people through psychology…”

A boy talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney

A boy talking to his girlfriend | Source: Midjourney

The first time he kissed me on the porch swing outside my mama’s house, I swear I saw stars. But when I told Mama about Glenn, she just pressed her lips together and said, “That’s nice, sugar. Don’t forget you’ve got that big exam coming up.”

That’s my mama, Claudia, for you. Since Daddy passed, she’s thrown herself into two things: raising me and adoring nature.

Never dated, and never seemed interested in finding love again.

A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney

A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney

Sometimes I catch her looking at Daddy’s photo on the mantle with such longing that it breaks my heart. I wish she’d give herself permission to be happy again, but we don’t have the kind of relationship where I can say that.

“Mama,” I tried once, “don’t you ever get lonely?”

“I’ve got you,” she replied, smoothing down her skirt. “That’s all the company I need.”

Everything was sailing smoothly until that morning I woke up feeling too sick.

Sunlight passing through curtains | Source: Pexels

Sunlight passing through curtains | Source: Pexels

I swear I couldn’t even move, and the thought of having breakfast nearly made me puke.

Oh no… I thought. The nausea, the fatigue… Does it mean I’m pregnant?

That was the first thing that came to my mind because Glenn and I got intimate a few weeks earlier.

I was super scared, and my hands were trembling so bad I could barely open the drawer where I’d hidden the pregnancy tests.

“Please, please, please,” I whispered, watching that little window. “Please tell me I’m wrong!”

But two pink lines appeared clear as day, and my world tilted sideways.

A girl holding a pregnancy test | Source: Pexels

A girl holding a pregnancy test | Source: Pexels

I sank down onto my bathroom floor while my heart pounded inside my chest.

“This can’t be happening,” I muttered, staring at the test. “I’m only nineteen. I can’t have a baby. I can’t…”

A few minutes later, I found myself pacing the bedroom.

“How am I gonna hide this from Mama?” I asked myself. “She’ll never understand. A baby? Out of wedlock? In our family?”

I think I talked to myself for almost an hour while different scenarios played out in my mind. All of them resulted in my mother not speaking to me.

I was certain she’d never accept my baby.

A girl standing in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A girl standing in her bedroom | Source: Midjourney

I spent the next few days hiding in my room, coming up with every excuse I could think of to avoid facing Mama.

“Faith, honey! Dinner’s ready!” she called out one evening.

“Sorry, Mama, got this huge psychology paper due tomorrow,” I shouted back. “I’ll grab something later!”

The next morning, she knocked on my door. “Baby girl, I made your favorite pancakes.”

“Thanks, but I already ate a granola bar. Got an early study group meeting,” I lied, feeling guilty about the growing pile of excuses.

A girl talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

A girl talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

That evening, she tried again. “Faith? Mrs. Jones brought over her famous casserole…”

“Got finals coming up, Mama. Need to focus!” I called out.

By Thursday, Mama wasn’t having it anymore. She marched right up to my room and stood in the doorway.

“Now hold on just a minute,” she said, fixing me with that mom-stare that could melt steel. “Since when do you skip my pancake breakfasts? And don’t think I haven’t noticed you running to the bathroom every morning.”

A woman looking at her daughter | Source: Midjourney

A woman looking at her daughter | Source: Midjourney

“Just stressed about exams,” I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “And I suppose stress is also why you haven’t touched your coffee in days? The same coffee you swear you can’t live without?”

“My study group suggested cutting back on caffeine.”

“My dear Faith,” Mama said slowly, “in all your years of schooling, I’ve never seen you skip meals during finals. Something’s going on with you, and we both know it ain’t just studying.”

But before she could press further, I grabbed my backpack. “Sorry, Mama, I’m late for the library. Group project!”

A girl looking at her mother | Source: Midjourney

A girl looking at her mother | Source: Midjourney

I practically ran down the stairs, leaving her standing there with that worried look I’d been trying so hard to avoid.

The following Sunday, Mama called up to my room, “Faith, honey! We’re gonna be late for service!”

“Coming!” I called back, fighting another wave of nausea. “Maybe I should skip today…”

“Skip church? Are you feeling poorly?” Mama appeared in my doorway.

“Just a little tired,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Been studying real hard.”

A girl looking away while talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

A girl looking away while talking to her mother | Source: Midjourney

“You’ve been ‘tired’ all week,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Something you want to tell me?”

“No ma’am,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

The church was packed that morning, all our neighbors dressed in their Sunday best.

Mrs. Jones was wearing her famous pink hat, and Mr. Rodriguez had his grandkids with him. Everything was fine until halfway through the sermon when that familiar nausea hit me.

I must’ve turned green because Mama grabbed my hand.

A woman sitting in a church | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting in a church | Source: Midjourney

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. “Come to think of it, you’ve been actin’ strange all week…”

Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was just those pregnancy hormones, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Mom, I have something to tell you,” I whispered back, tears welling up. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed felt eternal. Mama’s face went through about fifty different emotions in three seconds flat.

“What?” she gasped, loud enough for several heads to turn. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A woman sitting in a church, looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting in a church, looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

“No, I’m not joking,” I managed, my voice trembling. “I’m pregnant, and it’s Glenn’s.”

That’s when Mama lost it. She stood up and started yelling at me.

“Get out of the church right now!” she hissed. “Go home, pack your things, and don’t come back to my house! How could you do this? Did you even think about what our family and friends would say? Do you not know the traditions and values we hold!? Get out of my sight!”

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

A woman talking to her daughter | Source: Midjourney

I quickly stood up and began walking away while my tears blurred my vision. I could see how Mrs. Jones was staring at me with wide eyes.

But before I could reach the door, a familiar voice called out.

“Stop right there, young lady.”

It was Pastor James, and he was looking at my mother with the kind of stern expression I’d seen him use during particularly passionate sermons.

A priest looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

A priest looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

“Claudia,” he said gently, walking down the aisle toward us, “would you abandon your daughter when she needs you the most? Isn’t this the time to show love and forgiveness?”

“But she’s having a child out of wedlock!” Mama protested. “I never—”

“That shouldn’t be an issue, Claudia,” Pastor James interrupted softly. “Sometimes the greatest blessings come in unexpected packages. Remember, Claudia, when your husband passed away, this congregation wrapped their arms around you and Faith. Shouldn’t we do the same now?”

A priest talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney

A priest talking to a woman | Source: Midjourney

Those words changed Mama’s thoughts. She looked at me and then burst into tears.

The next thing I knew, we were hugging right there in the middle of the church, both of us crying while the congregation pretended not to watch.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” she whispered into my hair. “I was just scared for you. I know how hard it is raising a child alone…”

“I’m not alone, Mama,” I said. “I have Glenn, and I have you… if you’ll still have me?”

But the story doesn’t end here.

A girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

A girl smiling | Source: Midjourney

A few days later, Mama insisted on meeting Glenn and his family.

“Time to do this properly,” she said, straightening my collar like I was still a little girl. “No more secrets.”

Glenn drove us to his place.

“You nervous?” I asked Glenn as we pulled up to his house.

“A little,” he admitted, squeezing my hand. “But it’s time our families met.”

You won’t believe what happened next. We pulled up to this beautiful house, and who opened the door? Pastor James.

The look on his face when Glenn called him “Dad” was priceless.

A man looking at his son | Source: Midjourney

A man looking at his son | Source: Midjourney

“Faith?” Pastor James said, looking between me and his son. “Glenn, son, is this your young lady?”

“Yes sir,” Glenn said, taking my hand. “Surprised?”

“Well, I’ll be…” Pastor James shook his head, then started laughing. “The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways.”

Looking back now, I can’t help but laugh at how everything unfolded. Sometimes the best blessings come wrapped in the scariest packages, and sometimes the people you think you barely know turn out to be your biggest supporters.

A girl looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

A girl looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney

And Mama? Well, she’s already picking out baby names and knitting tiny booties.

And just yesterday, she said, “You know, sugar, maybe it’s time I started getting out more. Mrs. Jones’ brother just moved to town…”

Let’s see what happens next.

A woman standing near a window | Source: Pexels

A woman standing near a window | Source: Pexels

If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: Emma’s world was upended when her father abruptly called her home from university, only to demand she vacate her room for her reckless stepbrother. Months later, another urgent call revealed their family home in ruins, igniting a journey of redemption and rebuilding for them all.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Woman Told Her Daughter Her Father Had Died – Years Later, the Girl Discovered a Heartbreaking Truth

Woman Told Her Daughter Her Father Had Died – Years Later, the Girl Discovered a Heartbreaking Truth

When Cassie returns from a getaway with her husband and son, she walks into her home to see a cryptic message from her mother — telling her to watch a video. As Cassie presses play, her entire life changes. In the end, she’s left wondering which of her parents are worthy of forgiveness.

In my eyes, my father could do no wrong. He was everything I needed him to be and more. He was a businessman who was always traveling, but he ensured that he made enough time for me.

“You’re my little girl, Cassie,” he would say, bopping my nose with his index finger. “You’re the most special.”

My parents always went out of their way for me — ensuring that despite their busy schedules, we would have family dinner almost every night.

It was the one thing that kept me grounded while both of my friends from school were in the middle of their parents’ messy divorces.

“I think it’s trendy now,” I told my mother as she cut slices of banana bread for me after school one day.

“Cas, you cannot think that divorce is trendy,” she laughed. “It’s devastating and traumatic, and very few families actually keep things civil.”

“I’m just saying that it’s trendy because a lot of kids live between two homes,” I explained to her. “It’s one of those things we were talking about in class today.”

I was fourteen, and the world seemed more dramatic than it should have been.

But what I didn’t know was that my words seemed to be an incantation that settled over our home.

A few weeks after that conversation, my father went away on a business trip. A few hours after he had been gone, there was news of his passing.

“How?” I asked. “How did he die?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Cassie,” she replied. “I’m just saying what the paramedics told me.”

“So what will we do next?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled by the question.

“For the funeral?” I asked. “Aren’t we going to have one?”

“I don’t think so,” my mother replied. “Dad wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread at the beach. Let’s do that instead.”

I couldn’t fathom why my mother would want to do that — but at the end of the day, she knew my father best. And the longer I thought about it, the more beautiful and sentimental a private ceremony at the beach felt.

“Don’t be difficult, Cassie,” my mother said when she saw me thinking about my next move.

“I’m not,” I said. “Really. I was just thinking about it. It’s a great idea, Mom.”

I could have fought her for a send-off that I thought would have been more appropriate. But what use would it have been? At the end of the day, we had both lost him.

The months following the beach ceremony felt weighted, and I knew that I was becoming deeply depressed — my father had been our world. And his absence was felt more than anything.

But, with time, I learned to live with it.

Last week, I decided to book a cabin in the woods for a little family vacation. My son was adamant that camping was the new best thing, and I knew that despite the wonders of nature, I wasn’t going to camp in a tent without a bathroom in sight.

Instead, I thought that a cabin would be the best option — my husband, Derek, could camp outside with Drew, our son, if he insisted on it.

We had a dog, therefore, I asked my mother to house-sit for the week so that we could be at peace, knowing that Romeo was taken care of.

A week away was more than enough to restore my mind — and eventually, when we went back home, I was surprised to see that my mother wasn’t there. In fact, it looked like she had never been there.

But there, on the coffee table, was a note beneath the TV remote.

Watch this, Cassie. I’m sorry. — Mom

I didn’t know what was in store for me, but while Derek got Drew into the bath, I put the TV on and began to watch whatever my mother had planned.

The TV flickered to life, and there he was, my father, his voice a long-lost melody, his image aged but still, unmistakably him.

Tears streamed down my face as the realization that he was still alive enveloped me in a mix of joy and disbelief.

The video message was nothing short of unpredictable.

My dear Cassie, I’m still here, alive. I’m so sorry for the pain that you must have felt from my loss. But it was needed. I needed to be removed from your life because of the sordid truth of my past. Your mother knows everything, please ask her for the truth.

My health is on a steady decline, and I would love to see you and explain it all.

Love you, Dad.

Without telling Derek or Drew anything, I grabbed the car keys and ran out. I needed my mother to explain.

“So, I bet you’ve got questions for me,” she said, opening the door.

“Explain it all,” I said.

“Cassie, it’s heavy. You look tired from your trip; are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.

I nodded. It was now or never. I needed to know why my father faked his own death to get out of our lives.

My mother made us some tea and took out some shortbread.

“Darling,” she said. “I’ll understand if you don’t forgive me, but there’s so much about that time that I need to tell you.”

I sipped my tea, trying to figure out what my mother was about to tell me.

“I remember that you were telling me about your friend’s parents getting divorced. Do you remember that?” she asked.

I nodded. Of course, I did. It was the strangest thing, but it was so common when I was in school.

“Well, your father and I were not legally married. So when I told him about our conversation regarding divorce, he was actually relieved. Without being married, there would be no divorce.”

“What’s the big deal?” I asked.

“Then I found out that the real reason that we didn’t get married was because your father was already married to another woman.”

“What?” I exclaimed, almost dropping my cup. “To who?”

“To a woman in the town where he always had his business trips.”

“You didn’t know?” I asked, unable to believe her words.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “But when I pressed him about it, he decided to choose that family over us. So, I told him that the story was going to be his death.”

We were both silent for a moment.

Turns out that my mother told him that she would never tell me the truth, not when he was my favorite person. She couldn’t burst my bubble in that way. And she refused to let him see me one more time.

“It was better for you to think that it was an accident,” my mother said. “It just made more sense.”

Now, I understood why we didn’t have a funeral for him.

“What did we throw into the sea, then?” I asked.

“Dust,” she replied with a straight face.

My mother had spoken to him twice over the years. The second time being a day ago.

During their meeting, my father confessed his imminent death due to illness and requested that she give me the recording. My mother, torn by guilt and love, chose to write me the note and have the recording all set for me to watch.

“I would have taken the secret to my grave,” she said. “But knowing that he was ill and wanted to see you just struck something in me.”

Compelled by a need to confront the reality of my father’s existence, I traveled to the state where he lived with his other family.

I spent a few weeks with my father — going in and out of hospitals, watching him take an array of different medication, and growing weaker by the day.

Sitting at his bedside, I listened to his stories, the regrets, the moments of joy, and the love he had for all his children — myself included.

When things started to go downhill, I asked Derek to fly over with Drew. It was going to be a fleeting moment, but at least I’d know that my son had met my father.

A few days later, my father died.

Even now, I don’t know if I’ve forgiven him for the lie of having a double life. I just know that when it came to it in the end — I wanted to spend time with him. I had shoved my feelings aside, hoping for memories that I could figure out later.

But now that the dust has settled, I’m trying to figure out if I should forgive my mother for lying.

What would you do?

Here’s another story for you | After Celine’s father dies, she is left with having to navigate the weight of her grief. Everywhere she turns, there are pieces of her father. On her many trips to the cemetery, she finds that there are always fresh flowers left.\

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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