Here’s a shorter version of your story that keeps the core meaning and emotional arc intact:
When my parents divorced, it brought relief more than pain. Their marriage had been hard to watch, and I loved them both but knew they were better apart.
As I got older, I encouraged my mom to find someone new. She often felt lonely, so I was happy when she excitedly told me she had a boyfriend named Aaron—a pastry chef—and invited me to dinner to meet him.
Wanting to make a good impression, I brought a bottle of wine, even though I was struggling financially while saving to open my own restaurant.
When I arrived, my mom greeted me warmly, but everything changed when I saw Aaron—he was my age. Shocked and angry, I accused him of using her for money. My mom defended him and revealed they were getting married. I stormed out.
Days later, I called to apologize, saying I wanted to support her. She was thrilled, and I helped plan the wedding, though I still had doubts.
Just before the wedding, she forgot her phone, so I went to retrieve it. I found financial documents in Aaron’s name and property papers signed with my mom’s name—but not her handwriting.
Panicked, I interrupted the ceremony. But my mom tearfully explained the debts were from helping me buy a restaurant—Aaron had covered the rest. He wasn’t using her; he was helping me.
Ashamed, I apologized. Aaron calmly asked me to take my seat. I did, the weight of my mistake heavy on my shoulders.
Let me know if you want it even shorter or in a specific tone.