Five years after losing my wife, my daughter and I attended my best friend Stefan’s wedding. But my world shattered when he lifted the bride’s veil.
As my daughter whispered, “Daddy, why are you crying?” the bride locked eyes with me. Then she bolted.
I followed her down the corridor, my heart pounding. “You’re dead,” I choked out. “They told me you were dead.”
Tears filled Natalie’s eyes. “I didn’t know they told you that. My father arranged everything. I just wanted a fresh start.”
Fury burned in my chest. “You let me grieve you. You abandoned our daughter. What kind of person does that?”
Stefan appeared, confusion turning to horror. “Tell me you didn’t fake your death.”
Natalie looked away. Silence confirmed everything.
The wedding was called off. Her parents whisked her away, their secrets unraveling. I didn’t follow.
Two weeks later, Stefan and I met for drinks. “She fooled everyone,” he muttered. “She never mentioned you or your daughter.”
I nodded, strangely at peace. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I thought about my life now—Emma, my career, the home I built from the ashes of heartbreak. “Yeah,” I said, exhaling. “I think I am.”
For years, I’d wondered why she left, what I did wrong. But now, I knew—it was never about me. And for the first time in five years, I felt truly free.
