Five years after her departure, a wedding revealed a shocking truth. Six minutes of reading.
Five years after losing my wife, 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.
Id never planned to go to that party. It was my colleague Mark who dragged me, swearing it would “snap me out of my rut.”
Id been pulling double shifts at the construction site, my body aching like cement.
“One hour, tops,” Mark insisted, practically shoving me through the door of a flat in central London. “Then you can go home and keep 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. Me, in my worn jeans and old T-shirt, stuck out like a sore thumb.
Then I saw her. Emily.
She wasnt supposed to be 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, connectioncall it what you willbut I knew I wanted her in my life.
“Whos that?” I asked Mark, nodding toward her.
He followed my gaze and whistled softly. “Emily. Dont even try, mate. Her family owns half of Kensington.”
But I was already walking toward her.
She smiled as I approached, and that smile hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Im James,” I said, offering my hand.
“Emily,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. Her hand was small in mine, but her grip was firm. “You look as out of place as I feel.”
We talked for hours that night. She wasnt what Id expectedno spoiled rich-girl act, 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, moonlight glinting in her blonde hair.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
She studied me with eyes that seemed to see right through me. “Probably. But I dont think I care.”
Six months later, we married. Her parents didnt attend. They disowned her completelyno inheritance, no family gatherings, nothing.
But Emily just squeezed my hand and said, “I dont care about money. I just want you.”
And for a while, it was enough.
We moved into a small two-bedroom flat. I worked construction by day and studied architectural design at night. Emily got a job at an art gallery. We were happyor so I thought.
Then Lily was born, and something shifted. The light in Emilys 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 over spaghetti in our tiny kitchen. Lily slept in her cot beside us.
“Good for her,” I muttered, 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, Emily. 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 hated budgeting, resented 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 said 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. Im sorry, but 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 rushed to her parents mansion, wild-eyed, desperate.
The security guard barred my way.
“Youre not welcome here, sir,” he said, almost pitying.
“Please, I just need to talk to Emily,” I begged.
“Sir, you need to leave.”
Two days later, the divorce papers arrived. Emily had relinquished all parental rights to Lily. Her fathers lawyers handled it all with terrifying 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. “Emily was in a car accident. Dont call again. You meant nothing to her.”
She hung up.
I collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobbing until Lily woke up crying too.
They didnt even let me see her grave. They erased her from my life as if shed never existed.
I threw myself into work and raising Lily. I finished my studies and began designing houses instead of just building them. People noticed my talent.
Within three years, I had my own firm. Lily grew into a bright, happy girl, the spitting image of her mother.
Five years passed. Life moved on, and the pain faded to a dull ache.
Then the invitation arrived.
Steven, my oldest friend, was getting married. Wed lost touch after he joined the army, but now he wanted me at his wedding.
“What do you think, Lily-bug? Should we go see Uncle Steven get married?” I asked as she coloured.
“Will there be cake?” she asked seriously.
I laughed. “Yes, a big fancy one.”
“Then were going,” she declared, returning to her drawing.
The wedding was at a seaside resort, draped in white flowers and sea breeze. Steven hugged me tightly when we arrived.
“Mate, look at you! Proper success story,” he said, clapping my shoulder. “And this little beauty must be Lily.”
Lily smiled shyly.
The ceremony was beautiful. Guests filled the white chairs on the beach. Lily sat beside me, swinging her legs, toying with the flower Id tucked in her hair.
The music swelled, and everyone stood.
The bride walked down the aisle, her face hidden by a veil.
Then came the moment.
Steven beamed as she reached him. Gently, he lifted her veil.
I stopped breathing. Tears streamed down my face before I even realised I was crying.
Lily looked up, confused. “Daddy, why are you crying?”
I stood frozen, staring at the ghost of my dead ex-wife in a wedding dress.
Emily smiled at the guests, but her eyes widened in shock when she saw meand our daughter.
Then she bolted.
Steven called after her, bewildered, but she was already gone. My legs trembled as I stood.
And in the end, I realised the best revenge had been building a happy life without her.
