My reflection in the mirror stared back at me: a beautiful bride, but with a heart full of dread. With two dads, who would walk me down the aisle?

“Mom,” I blurted, “I can’t decide.”

“Kaia, your wedding’s next week,” she said gently.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I sighed. Tradition called for my biological father, Jerry C., but my stepfather, Jerry R., had always been there.

Finally, I decided. “Mom, I want Jerry C. to walk me down the aisle.”

She nodded, hiding her disappointment. When I called Jerry C., he was thrilled. But doubt lingered.

On the wedding day, dressed in my white gown, my heart raced. Halfway down the aisle, Jerry C. stopped abruptly. “Why don’t we make this a joint effort?” he declared.

“Dad, no!” I whispered, panicking.

Ignoring me, he invited Jerry R. to join us. The room was silent, tension thick. “Maybe Kaia has something to say?” Mom intervened.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but this isn’t about some ‘ultimate experience,'” I said, looking at both men. “I love you both, but today is about love and support, not a grand display.”

Jerry C. cleared his throat. “Alright. Let Kaia decide.”

I turned to Jerry R. “You’ve been there through thick and thin. You’re my father in every way that matters.”

Jerry R. smiled, eyes wet with emotion. “Thank you, Kaia.”

I walked the rest of the way alone, head held high. At the altar, my husband-to-be’s proud eyes warmed me. It wasn’t traditional, but it was perfect in its own way.