I thought I knew Sarah. For four years, she’d been part of our lives—laughing with Paige during movie nights, helping with homework, sharing Sunday dinners. I watched them bake cookies together and believed I’d found someone who understood that my daughter wasn’t just part of my past, but the center of my world.
Then came the wedding planning. Sarah became obsessed with details I never cared about—color schemes, floral arrangements, perfect photographs. When she mentioned wanting her niece as flower girl, I naturally suggested Paige could walk with her. The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “I don’t think Paige fits the part,” she said, her voice cold and unfamiliar.
That night, I took Paige for ice cream, my heart aching as I watched her happily describe flavors. Later, Sarah’s mother texted that I was “overreacting”—that my daughter “didn’t have to be in my wedding.” The next morning, I confronted Sarah, and her confession shattered everything. She admitted she hoped after marriage I’d become a “holiday-visit dad,” seeing Paige only occasionally so we could “focus on our new life.”
I slid the ring off my finger and placed it on the table. “She’s my child,” I said quietly. “If you can’t love both of us, you don’t get either of us.” When I told Paige the wedding was off, she asked, “Because of me?” I hugged her tight. “No, sweetheart—because of us.” We used the honeymoon tickets for our “Daddy-Daughter Moon,” and as we packed, she slipped a drawing into my suitcase: the two of us under a heart labeled “Always.” That drawing meant more than any wedding vow ever could.
