My dad left when I was young, so I kept my expectations low. When he offered to walk me down the aisle, I hoped he’d finally be the father I needed. On my wedding day, he chose his new wife instead, but I found the love that truly matters.
Dad walked out when I was nine, leaving Mom and me for his girlfriend, Susan. He’d been sneaking around, and one night, he told Mom he was “following his heart.” My birthdays were forgotten, and my high school graduation got a card in Susan’s script. College acceptance? He said, “I’m not a scholar.” I learned to live without him, but when I got engaged, he suddenly called, acting like a loving dad. Susan was always there, smiling like she was family.
I was skeptical. “It’s fake,” I told Mom, playing with my ring. She gave me her gentle smile, worn from years of hard work. “See if he’s changed,” she said. So I let him in. Dad promised to help with the wedding, saying it was “the least he owed.” No money arrived—not for the dress or the catering. My fiancé, David, and I pinched pennies, and Mom tapped her savings to help. Still, Dad showed up early on the wedding day, grinning like he’d been there forever.
Susan wore a bold red dress, boasting it was unique from Italy. Nobody asked, but she kept talking. The plan was set: Dad would walk me down the aisle, and we’d dance to “Forever Young,” a song Mom sang through tough times. The aisle walk was tense—Dad seemed out of place—but I held onto hope for the dance. When the DJ announced the father-daughter dance, I scanned the crowd for him, my heart daring to believe.
Dad didn’t budge. He sat by Susan, holding her hand as she whispered something. I walked to their table, hopeful but nervous. “Ready?” I asked. He looked away, saying, “We’re skipping it.” I gasped. “Why?” He shrugged, saying, “Susan feels left out. You didn’t include her, maybe in a toast.” My heart sank. He wasn’t just avoiding the dance—he was choosing her, again, in front of my guests.
I fled to a dark corner, holding back tears. The DJ, unaware, called us out, and the spotlight hit me, alone. I stood, forcing a smile as the music played, my heart breaking. Then David stepped up, taking the mic. “Some people miss the point,” he said softly. “But I’m here.” He held my hand, and we danced, my tears falling from gratitude, not pain. In his arms, I felt loved.
Dad didn’t know David’s great-uncle, a quiet guest, was his boss. After our dance, he approached Dad’s table, calm but firm. “If you treat your daughter like this today,” he said, “you’re not fit for my team. Don’t show up Monday.” Susan’s spoon clinked, and Dad’s face flushed. He hasn’t reached out since. I sent him a photo of me and David dancing, a silent reminder of his loss.
Susan left him when his job ended, reportedly “soul-searching” in Nevada. David held me one evening, saying, “You’ll never beg for love again.” That dance showed me I have my true family, and I’m stronger for it.
