Five years after my wife’s death, my daughter and I attended my best friend’s wedding. But when he lifted the bride’s veil, I saw Natalie’s face—and my world fell apart. Emma tugged my sleeve: “Dad, why are you crying?” The bride froze, locking eyes with me, and everything shattered.
I never wanted to be there. Mark dragged me along, hoping a night out would snap me out of my funk. I was in rough shape—back-to-back shifts on the site, emotionally wrecked.
Then I saw her—Natalie—who hadn’t planned to be there either. When we locked eyes, something powerful clicked. Mark warned me she was from a rich family, but I didn’t care. We talked all night. She was genuine, warm, brave—even though she knew her family would disapprove of me.
Six months later we married. Her family disowned her, but we didn’t need money—just each other. We lived modestly: me in construction by day and night architecture classes, her at a gallery. We were happy—until Emma was born.
Once she arrived, Natalie changed. She compared our simple life to her old one. She hated scraping by. Our fights grew vicious. She said, “Maybe I thought you’d be more.”
Then one day, she vanished. I found her things gone and a note: “I want a divorce… You can keep Emma.” Two days later, divorce papers arrived—no fight.
Six months later, her parents called: “She died in a car crash.” My world collapsed. No grave, no goodbye. I buried myself in Emma, finished my degree, and launched my own design firm. Life stabilized. Emma thrived.
Five years after losing Natalie, I received an invite to Stefan’s wedding. I asked Emma if she wanted to go. She said yes—“Will there be cake?”—so we went.
At the seaside ceremony, I saw the bride. As Stefan lifted the veil… it was Natalie. Alive. She froze, saw me, and ran. Stefan chased her, but I stood paralyzed. Emma asked again, “Why are you crying?”
I found Natalie in a hallway. “You were supposed to be dead,” I whispered. She stammered she thought it was best—I’d be better off. Anger and grief ripped through me: “You let me grieve a ghost. You made our daughter think her mother was dead.”
Stefan found us. I explained how her family had orchestrated this deception. The wedding collapsed. Natalie was escorted away by her parents. I didn’t chase after her.
Two weeks later, Stefan and I talked over drinks. He’d recently met Natalie again and said she never brought up Emma. I realized it wasn’t my fault. I was no longer broken.
I have Emma, a thriving career, and a life built from the wreckage. For the first time in five years, I’m finally free.