“If you marry him, you’re no longer my daughter,” my father said three years ago, and with that, he closed the door on us. I never imagined he’d return—until one day, his car appeared in my driveway, bringing a flood of memories and emotions.
I was 25, a young architect, and deeply in love with Lucas, a quiet carpenter. His gentle ways and love for me were everything I needed. I knew my father wouldn’t accept him, and when I told him about our pregnancy and engagement, his rejection was cold and final.
I left home that night, moving in with Lucas. Life was tough, especially with triplets on the way. We struggled through exhaustion and money worries, but Lucas’s carpentry work eventually brought us hope.
Then my father called, saying he wanted to see us. When he arrived, he was distant but soon softened, admitting he had been wrong. Tears flowed as he apologized, and for the first time in years, we connected.
Seeing him with my children, I felt the healing begin. The man who once rejected me was now part of our family again.
