Our wedding night—supposed to be the happiest moment of my life—turned into a nightmare.
When we returned to our room, the door suddenly swung open. My father-in-law, a thin man in his sixties with deep-set eyes, walked in carrying a pillow and blanket.
“Tonight, I’ll sleep with you two,” he said, his voice calm, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “It’s a family tradition. On the first night, a ‘lucky man’ must lie between the newlyweds to ensure a son. Your grandfather did the same.”
I froze. I looked at my husband, expecting him to laugh it off—but he only nodded faintly, smiling.
“Dad, it’s just one night. Honey, this is how our family does things…”
My heart sank. I wanted to refuse, but I knew if I caused a scene on our wedding night, everyone would call me rude or disrespectful. So I stayed silent, lying at the edge of the bed, as far away as possible.
Three people, one bed. I barely dared to breathe. The air was thick, suffocating.
Then he began adjusting my sleeping position with his hands, constantly repositioning me, straightening my pillow and blanket, as if I were just a part of the “tradition” he had to carry out.
I felt a chill run down my spine. It wasn’t physical violation, but the way he treated my body like an object to manipulate made me deeply uncomfortable. I suddenly sat up.
“Dad, what are you doing?!”
My husband jumped up, turning on the light, but he still spoke in a calm, reassuring tone:
“Don’t make a big deal out of our first night. He’s old… he just wants the tradition to be followed properly…”
I shivered, tears streaming down my face. At that moment, I realized that if I stayed, I would have to live under constant pressure and control, with no privacy whatsoever.
The next morning, while everyone was still having breakfast, I quietly packed my things, placed my wedding ring back on the table, and walked out. I didn’t look back.
That afternoon, my mother took me to a lawyer. I filed for annulment, attaching the recording of my father-in-law adjusting my position, manipulating my blanket and pillow—the invasion of my privacy was all clearly documented.
Listening back, I didn’t cry. I felt empty then relieved.
The lawyer asked if I regretted anything. I said,
“No. If I had stayed silent, I would have lived a lifetime in fear. Now, at least I know I chose the right side.”
A few months later, the court approved the annulment. I changed my residence, changed my phone number, and started over.
Some people asked why I didn’t keep it a secret, fearing gossip. I just smiled:
“Secrets are meant to protect shame. I no longer feel ashamed.”
I didn’t have a perfect wedding night, but I had a dawn of freedom—a moment when I learned that not every tradition deserves to be honored, and sometimes, a woman’s courage can be the beginning of change for an entire family.