Five years after my wife left, my daughter and I attended my best friends wedding. But my world shattered when he lifted the brides veil. As my daughter whispered, “Daddy, why are you crying?” the bride locked eyes with meand in that instant, everything fell apart.
I never planned to go to that party. It was my colleague Mark who dragged me there, swearing it would “snap me out of my funk.”
Id been pulling double shifts on the construction site, my body aching like concrete.
“One hour, tops,” Mark insisted, practically shoving me through the door of a flat in central London. “Then you can go back to being a hermit.”
Funny how the most pivotal moments arrive when you least expect them.
The party was full of people whod never lifted anything heavier than a wine glass. I, in my worn jeans and old T-shirt, stuck out like a sore thumb.
Then I saw her. Lucy.
She didnt belong there either. Later, I learned shed only stopped by to drop something off for a friend.
Our eyes met across the room, and something clicked. Sparks, chemistrycall it what you willI knew I wanted her in my life.
“Whos that?” I asked Mark, nodding toward her.
He followed my gaze and whistled low. “Lucy. Dont even try, mate. Her family owns half of Mayfair.”
But I was already walking toward her.
She smiled as I approached, and that smile hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Im James,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Lucy,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. Her hand was small in mine, but her grip firm. “You look as out of place as I feel.”
We talked for hours that night. She wasnt what I expectedno posh-girl attitude, just warmth and genuine curiosity. By the time I walked her to her car, I knew I was in trouble.
“My parents would hate you,” she said, the moonlight catching her dark hair.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
Her eyes pierced right through me. “Probably. But I dont care.”
Six months later, we married. Her parents didnt come. They disowned her completelyno inheritance, no family gatherings, nothing.
But Lucy just squeezed my hand and said, “I dont care about money. I only want you.”
And for a while, it was enough.
We moved into a tiny two-bedroom flat. I worked construction by day and studied architectural design at night. Lucy got a job at a gallery. We were happyor so I thought.
Then Lily was born, and something shifted. The light in Lucys eyes dimmed. She began comparing our life to the one shed left behind.
“My uni friend just bought a house in Cornwall,” she remarked one evening as we ate spaghetti in our cramped kitchen. Lily slept in her cot beside us.
“Good for her,” I said, not looking up from my blueprints.
“She invited us to visit. I had to say we couldnt afford it.”
Her words cut deep. “Were fine, Lucy. Things will get better.”
“When?” she snapped. “When Lilys at uni? When were retired? Im sick of waiting for better, James.”
The arguments grew louder, more frequent. She resented budgeting, despised our modest life.
“This isnt what I wanted,” shed say.
As if Id tricked her. As if love paid the bills.
“You knew who I was when you married me,” I reminded her during one particularly brutal fight.
“Maybe that was the mistake,” she replied coldly. “I thought youd be more by now.”
The next day, I came home early with flowers to surprise her. The flat was silent.
Her suitcase and all her things were gone.
In Lilys cot, I found a note:
“I want a divorce. Our marriage was a mistake. Ive left Lily with Mrs. Thompson from upstairs. Keep her.”
I called her mobile a hundred times. No answer. I went to her parents mansion, desperate, wild-eyed.
The security guard wouldnt let me in.
“Youre not welcome here, sir,” he said, almost pitying.
“Please, I just need to talk to Lucy,” I begged.
“Sir, you need to leave.”
Two days later, divorce papers arrived. Lucy had given up custody. Her fathers lawyers handled it all with ruthless efficiency.
Then came the final blow.
Six months after she left, I called her parents house one last time.
“Shes dead,” her mother said flatly. “Car crash. Dont call again. You meant nothing to her.”
The line went dead.
I collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobbing until Lily woke up crying too.
They didnt even let me see her grave. Erased from my life as if shed never existed.
I threw myself into work and raising Lily. I finished my studies, started designing houses instead of just building them. People noticed my talent.
Three years later, I had my own firm. Lily grew into a clever, happy girl, the spitting image of her mother.
Five years passed. Life moved on; the pain dulled to a quiet ache.
Then the invitation came.
Steven, my oldest friend, was getting married. Wed lost touch after he enlisted, but now he wanted me there.
“What do you think, Lily-bug? Should we go see Uncle Steven get married?” I asked as she doodled.
“Is there cake?” she asked seriously.
I laughed. “Huge, fancy cake.”
“Then were going,” she declared.
The wedding was at a seaside resort, all white flowers and ocean breeze. Steven hugged me tight when we arrived.
“Look at youproper success story,” he said, clapping my shoulder. “And this must be Lily.”
She gave a shy smile.
The ceremony was beautiful. Guests filled white chairs on the beach. Lily swung her legs beside me, toying with the flower Id tucked in her hair.
Music swelled; everyone stood.
The bride walked down the aisle, her face hidden beneath a veil.
Then came the moment.
Steven beamed as she reached him. Gently, he lifted the veil.
I stopped breathing. Tears spilled before I realized I was crying.
Lily tugged my sleeve. “Daddy, why are you sad?”
I stood frozen, staring at the ghost of my dead ex-wife in a wedding dress.
Lucy smiled at the crowduntil she saw me. Saw Lily.
Her eyes widened in horror.
Then she ran.
Steven called after her, bewildered, but she was gone. My legs shook as I stood.
“Stay with Uncle Steven,” I told Lily before chasing after her.
But Lucy had vanished.
Later, Steven confessed everything. Theyd met a year ago. Shed lied about her past, her nameeverything.
And as I held Lily close that night, I realized the best revenge had been building a happy life without her.
