My father is a monster. He abandoned me and my sick mom when I was a child. She never stopped loving him and always dreamed of reuniting our family, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Her condition worsened, and when I was 12, she passed away. Before she died, she tried to call him to take me in, but he didn’t answer… I went through foster homes, filled with hate, dreaming of the day I’d be able to take revenge on him.

Then my chance came. I saw an announcement in the newspaper about his lavish wedding, dubbed “The Event of the Year.” Imagine—he was spending millions on it while my mother had died in poverty. I knew this was my moment. He had no idea what was coming.

I spent weeks gathering information. My father, a wealthy businessman, had built his reputation on charm and charisma. He was loved by the media, admired by his peers, and soon to be married to a much younger woman from an influential family.

I knew I couldn’t just show up and expose him—I needed proof, something undeniable. I started digging. With a bit of luck and some late-night internet searches, I found bank records, shady business deals, and, most importantly, a history of other abandoned children. I wasn’t the only one.

I reached out to them. Some ignored me, too scared to reopen old wounds. But a few, like me, still carried the scars. We formed a plan together. The wedding would be our stage, and the world would be our audience.

Dressed as one of the catering staff, I walked through the grand hall of the luxurious venue, my heart pounding. Crystal chandeliers, golden plates, and a cake taller than I was—it was everything my mother had never had.

I spotted him, laughing, basking in the admiration of his guests. He looked at peace, as if he had no regrets. It made my blood boil.

I waited for the perfect moment. The officiant had just asked if anyone had objections when I stepped forward. My voice trembled but was loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“I object.”

Silence. Every pair of eyes turned to me. My father squinted, confusion crossing his face.

“And who are you?” he asked, dismissive, as if I were some random guest who had wandered in.

I took a deep breath. “I’m your son.”

Gasps filled the room. His fiancée turned to him, stunned. The cameras, set up to capture his perfect day, caught every second of his reaction. He went pale.

I wasn’t done.

“I’m not the only one.” With a nod, the others I had contacted stepped forward—three men and two women, each one carrying the same resentment, the same pain.

His bride’s father, a powerful businessman, demanded answers. His guests whispered. The media, already present, turned their cameras toward him. It was chaos.

The wedding didn’t happen. His fiancée stormed out, her family humiliated. The media ran the story of his hidden children, his past catching up to him in the most public way possible.

But that wasn’t the best part.

Days later, his company’s stock plummeted. Sponsors pulled out. Clients left. He tried to issue a statement, claiming we were lying, but the DNA tests we had prepared said otherwise. His empire crumbled.

And I? I didn’t feel the satisfaction I thought I would. Revenge wasn’t as sweet as I had imagined. It didn’t bring my mother back, and it didn’t erase the years of pain.

With the money from the interviews, I set up a foundation in my mother’s name—one to help abandoned children. I realized that dwelling in anger would only make me like him. Instead, I chose to be better.

Revenge gave me justice, but forgiveness gave me peace.

And now, I ask you—if given the chance, would you choose revenge, or would you choose to let go?

Share this if you’ve ever had to make a difficult choice about your past.