She showed me a wedding barn, floral decorations, and a photo booth for the guests on her laptop. Then she said they were short two hundred thousand. When I asked where they planned to get the money, she looked at me as if I should have known the answer all along.
“You could take out a loan.”
So that’s how it is. I’d been warning them for months that they were rushing into everything, and now I’m supposed to sign off on their excitement at the bank under my own name.
My daughter is twenty-two. Her fiancé is twenty-four. They’ve known each other for ten months, lived together for three, and want to get married in another four. When she told me about the engagement, I was surprised. When she mentioned the date, I asked if she was serious.
I told them quite openly that getting married so soon seemed foolish to me. I suggested they live together for a while first. That way, they’d find out how they’d manage money, the household, and everything else you don’t learn during romantic weekends.
My daughter rolled her eyes.
“We love each other. What are we supposed to wait for?”
I asked how they planned to pay for the wedding.
“We’ll manage somehow. You don’t have to ruin everything right away.”
I heard that sentence several more times. Every time I asked a question they didn’t want to answer.
Gradually, I stopped worrying about whether they should get married. They’re adults. I told them my doubts, and they made their own decision. I thought they’d also figure out how to pay for it on their own.
But while I expected them to count up their options, my daughter kept sending me more photos. Fairy lights above the dance floor. Huge bouquets. A second dress for the evening. A photo booth. Seventy guests.
She had an explanation for every new thing, why the wedding wouldn’t be right without it.
A few days ago, they both came to see me. With a laptop and a spreadsheet. I was almost happy they were finally going to talk about real money.
The total budget was three hundred thousand crowns.
I read that number again.
They could scrape together fifty thousand from their savings. His parents promised another fifty. The rest they didn’t have yet. Still, they had already paid a deposit for the venue.
“Wait. You ordered something even though you’re missing two-thirds of the money?”
My daughter looked annoyed.
“If we waited, someone would have taken the date.”
I asked what would happen if they chose a cheaper place and invited fewer people. My daughter started explaining that the ceremony and party were supposed to be at this farm, that the photographer already knew the location, and that she didn’t want a wedding that looked like an ordinary family gathering.
That stung. We celebrated my own wedding at an ordinary family gathering once. But I let it go. I went back to those two hundred thousand.
And that’s when she brought up the loan.
At first, I thought she wanted my opinion on whether they should borrow the money themselves. But she was counting on me taking out the loan. After all, I have a steady job. And apparently, I’d be giving them time to pay me back gradually.
“And with what?”
Her fiancé said they’d get some money as wedding gifts. My daughter added that after the wedding, they wouldn’t have such big expenses anymore.
“You don’t even know how much you have left after payday. But you already know how much your relatives will give you in envelopes?”
By then, my nerves were starting to fray.
I’m fifty-three. I have my own bills, plans, and a safety net I’ve been building for years. I don’t want to give it all up for one day of someone else’s planning. And I’m not going to take on more debt because of it.
I said I could give them ten thousand of my own. I’d be happy to help with preparations. I’ll bake, organize, drive—whatever they need. But I won’t take out a loan for two hundred thousand.
My daughter was silent for a moment.
“Ten thousand?”
She said it in a way that made me feel like I’d offered her bus fare.
“Yes. That’s what I can give you without having to borrow.”
“His parents are giving us fifty.”
“Then thank them. I’m telling you what I can give.”
Then she started saying that a wedding is once in a lifetime. That she’s been looking forward to it since childhood. That all her friends had beautiful celebrations and she doesn’t want to spend the whole day thinking about what they had to skimp on.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Then for heaven’s sake, don’t get married in four months. Wait, save up, and have the wedding you want. I’ve been telling you from the start that rushing like this is a mistake. You told me you’d manage. And now I’m supposed to make sure you don’t miss out on anything?”
“So you’re telling us again that we shouldn’t get married.”
We started raising our voices. Her fiancé sat at the table, staring at the closed laptop. When he finally spoke, he said they could cut something from the budget.
My daughter turned to him.
“Are you serious? We agreed on all this.”
That’s when I realized they hadn’t come to discuss options with me. They came to tell me which option they’d already chosen for me.
And when I refused, she said the sentence that hurt more than the whole conversation.
“If you cared about my happiness, you’d help me.”
I asked her if those ten thousand, my time, and everything else meant anything to her at all.
She said she needed real help now. Baking, apparently, wouldn’t solve their problem.
That evening, they left without the usual goodbyes. Her fiancé thanked me for the coffee. My daughter said I should think it over. And that if I didn’t help, they’d have to cancel things she was looking forward to.
I stayed sitting at the table. I was angry. And I was also sad that something we should have been looking forward to together was falling apart like this.
Maybe I didn’t have to say it was foolish. That sentence hurt her even at the engagement. But I can’t just nod along enthusiastically when I see they made a big decision and only started thinking about the money afterward.
The next day she texted me that I’d humiliated her in front of her fiancé. And that if I was going to make similar comments at their wedding, maybe it would be better if I didn’t come.
I didn’t reply for a long time.
Then I wrote that I do want to come to the wedding. That my offer of ten thousand still stands. And that I won’t take out any loan.
She hasn’t replied yet.
Her wedding date is still circled in my calendar. I don’t know if she’ll want me there. But I don’t want to go into debt just to be allowed to sit among the wedding guests.
Was the mother too harsh, or is it unreasonable for a daughter to expect her parent to take out a loan for her dream wedding?
