Am I wrong to break up with my fiancé after what he did?

My dad abandoned my mom, my brother, and me when I was young, leaving us in dire straits. My mom did everything she could to provide for us, even if it meant making some questionable decisions. Despite the tough times and the stigma that followed us, I was never ashamed of her. She was my hero.

Recently, my life took a happy turn when I got engaged to my fiancé, Mark. We had been planning our wedding, and I was overjoyed at the thought of starting a new chapter with him. The day came when my mom and I were to meet his parents for the first time. I was nervous but excited, hoping our families would get along well.
As soon as we arrived at Mark’s parents’ house, something felt off. My mom’s face went white as a sheet when she saw Mark’s father. I watched in confusion as her expression shifted from shock to something I couldn’t quite place—fear? Shame?
“Mom, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to understand the sudden change in her demeanor.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she just stared at Mark’s father, who looked equally stunned. The awkward silence stretched, making everyone uncomfortable. Finally, Mark’s mother, oblivious to the tension, invited us to sit.

The dinner was a strained affair. My mom remained silent and hardly touched her food. I could see the gears turning in her mind, but I had no clue what was going on. After we left, I pressed her for answers.

“Mom, please tell me what’s happening,” I begged as we got into the car.

She took a deep breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I never wanted you to find out like this. Mark’s father… he’s the man who paid me to… he’s the reason we had food on the table sometimes.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. My mind raced, trying to process the revelation. Mark’s father had been one of the men who had taken advantage of my mom’s desperation. The same man was now supposed to be part of my family. I felt sick to my stomach.

When I got home, I called Mark and asked him to come over. I needed to talk to him, to understand if he knew about his father’s past. When he arrived, I confronted him with the truth.

“Did you know?” I a

Mark looked horrified. “No, I swear I didn’t know. How could I?”

I believed him. But the knowledge that our families were intertwined in such a dark way was too much to bear. My mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, shame, sorrow.

“Mark, I can’t do this,” I said finally. “I can’t marry you knowing what your father did to my mom. It’s too painful. I’m sorry.”

He tried to convince me to reconsider, but my decision was firm. The past had a way of seeping into the present, and I knew this was a wound that would never heal. I needed to protect my mom and myself from further pain.

As I packed my things and prepared to leave, I wondered if I was making the right decision. Love wasn’t enough to erase the trauma and history between our families. I knew it would be a long road to recovery, but I had to take the first step for my own peace of mind.

Am I wrong to break up with my fiancé after what he did? Maybe some people would think so. But for me, the weight of the past was too heavy a burden to carry into my future.