Just three days before our wedding, I discovered that my fiancé’s mother had removed all the vegan dishes from our menu.
Dario brushed it off casually: “It’s not a big deal.”
I felt invisible in my own celebration. That night, I made a bold decision: I canceled the wedding—just two days before it was supposed to happen.
We’d been planning for almost a year. It was going to be a simple outdoor ceremony at a family friend’s vineyard in Sonoma, chosen for its calm, personal atmosphere and customizability. As a vegan for seven years, food was an important part of my identity. I wanted my family and close friends, many of whom were also vegan, to have delicious, inclusive options.
The caterer had prepared a balanced menu: vegan lasagna, grilled vegetables, chickpea curry, alongside meat options for others. But the final confirmation email arrived, and all the vegan dishes were gone—replaced entirely with chicken, lamb, and shrimp.
I called the caterer. He hesitated, explaining that he believed my fiancé’s mother had approved the change. I confronted Dario.
“Oh, yeah. Mom thought people wouldn’t like vegan dishes. Don’t worry—it’s still good food,” he said, dismissing my feelings.
That was the last straw. The wedding wasn’t just about food; it was about respect. Over time, I’d noticed how little space I had in this relationship: his mom referring to me as “the girl,” him never defending me, constant interference in wedding plans. That night, I realized I wasn’t being seen or valued.
So, I canceled the wedding. Friends and family were shocked. My mother understood. Dario was incredulous: “You’re canceling over food?!”
“No,” I replied calmly. “I’m leaving because you never stood up for me.”
His mother laughed at the cancellation, seeing it as a victory. I spent the weekend with close friends in Santa Cruz, barefoot on the sand, crying and laughing, reclaiming my sense of self.
Then came confirmation that I’d done the right thing. The caterer later told me Dario’s mother had mocked my vegan lifestyle, saying it was a “phase,” and he hadn’t corrected her.
Months later, I moved into my own place, rediscovered independence, and eventually met someone who truly saw me—Tarek, a quiet, attentive man who noticed the little things and respected my choices.
Now, years later, I look back and realize that canceling the wedding wasn’t about the food—it was about self-respect. It taught me that when someone’s comfort matters more than your dignity, it’s time to step away. Love isn’t about compromise at the expense of your identity—it’s about showing up for each other, every single day.