Daniel and I met in a coffee shop, where I helped him gather his scattered cards. That moment sparked a connection. Daniel was steady and caring, and on our third date, he told me about his son Evan, who kept people at a distance. When I offered to help with homework, Evan said, “You’re not my mom.” I told him I wasn’t trying to be, and I kept trying to earn his trust.
Daniel proposed, and I accepted. Evan’s congratulations felt forced. On our wedding day, Evan warned me, “Don’t marry my dad,” and gave me an envelope with debt notices and emails showing Daniel’s plan to marry me for money and divorce me.
Evan had overheard a call and printed the proof. He admitted he kept his distance to protect me. I hugged him, thankful for his courage. I arranged a prenup. Daniel refused to sign and called Evan a traitor. I canceled the wedding and left with Evan.
Months later, Evan wrote from his aunt’s house, doing well. I keep his letter and the canceled wedding program, grateful for the son who saved me.
