“On Our Wedding Night, My Father-in-Law Climbed into Bed with Us—For a ‘Son Blessing Ritual.’ At 3 AM, I Couldn’t Stand the Itching Anymore… And Then I Realized Why.”
Our wedding night—what was supposed to be the most beautiful moment of my life—turned into a nightmare.
Just as my husband, Javier, and I were retiring to our bedroom in his family’s home on the outskirts of Guadalajara, someone knocked softly and opened the door. It was his father—Mr. Ricardo Garza, a gaunt man in his sixties with piercing eyes that always seemed to observe something deeper than the surface.
He was carrying a pillow and a folded blanket.
“I’m going to sleep between you two tonight,” he said flatly, entering.
I froze. Was this a joke?
“In our family,” she continued without flinching, “there’s an old tradition. On their wedding night, a man who has fathered a child must lie between the couple. It brings blessings for a son. My father did the same with me.”
I looked at Javier, expecting him to laugh or protest. But he just gave me an awkward smile and said, “Just for one night, Sofia. It’s silly, but… all the men in my family follow suit.”
I wanted to say no. Every instinct in my body screamed that this was wrong. But how could I, a newlywed, oppose a “custom”? If I refused, they would call me disrespectful, arrogant… a bad daughter-in-law.
So I said nothing. I swallowed my disgust and slid into bed—me on one side, Javier on the other, and his father, Mr. Garza, nestled between us under a thick comforter.
I couldn’t sleep.
The room felt stifling. I turned my back on them and closed my eyes, but every few minutes, I felt something brush against my lower back. At first, I thought it was accidental. I tried to ignore it.
But by 3 AM, the itch had spread. Down my back, to my waist… to my thigh. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I sat up, my heart pounding, rolled over—and froze.
Mr. Garza’s wrinkled, bony hand poked out from under my Blanket. He was touching my waist. Slowly. Intentionally.
And the worst part—he was awake.
His eyes were wide open, staring at me. No guilt. No panic. Just… calm. Cold.
As if he knew I wouldn’t dare scream.
But I did.
I screamed as loudly as I could.
Javier woke up startled and confused. He turned on the light. I was trembling, pointing at his father’s hand. But the old man casually withdrew it and yawned, feigning sleepiness.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured. “I must have moved in my sleep…”
Javier looked at me. Confused. Embarrassed.
He pulled me into the hallway and whispered, “Please don’t overreact. It’s our first night. He’s an old man… maybe he didn’t notice.”
I stood there in the dim hallway, my hands freezing cold and my eyes brimming with tears.
That was the moment I realized… I had married a man who wouldn’t protect me. I had entered a family where a disgusting tradition could be used as a weapon, and no one would dare speak out against it.
By morning, I had already packed my suitcase.
I took a taxi directly to my parents’ house in Oaxaca. At noon, my mother took me to meet an old friend of hers, an experienced family lawyer. I filed a formal request for an annulment. Luckily, we hadn’t yet legally registered the marriage.
But I brought proof: a recording I had secretly started that night as a precaution. It captured the shifting sounds under the blanket, the strange whisper that began shortly before 3 AM:
“Just a little longer… Be good… Daddy loves you…”
Part 2 — “Daddy Loves You”
The lawyer listened to the recording, her face completely still. But in the end, she lifted her head. She looked at me and said firmly:
“With this… we can’t just annul the marriage. We can file a complaint for aggravated sexual harassment.”
I shuddered. I still found it hard to believe that something so disgusting could have happened to me, on what was supposed to be a couple’s most sacred night. But the worst wasn’t over…
Three days later, Javier came looking for me. He wasn’t just angry. He was desperate.
“Sofia! You have to stop this! You’re destroying my family!” he shouted, kneeling in front of my parents’ door. “My dad is devastated! He says it was a misunderstanding!”
My mother stepped in, as cold as a rock.
“Your father crossed a line. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a violation of trust, of space, and of my daughter. If you came here to manipulate her, leave.”
But Javier didn’t leave easily. He came back twice more. On the last occasion, he brought something in Her hand: a thick, sealed envelope. She handed it to me without another word.
Inside was a handwritten letter… from her mother.
“Dear Sofia:
You have no idea how sorry I am. For years I kept silent out of fear, shame… and because I thought it was part of what every woman had to endure in this family.
That ‘tradition’ isn’t a tradition. It’s a
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