Father never left us. It wasn’t like Mum said at all…
For twenty long years, I carried a grudge in my heart. All that time, Mum repeated the same story—that Dad had abandoned us, vanished without a trace, erased us from his life. The last time I’d seen him, I was seven. Only a handful of old photographs remained, along with vague shreds of memory that brought nothing but pain and confusion. I tried to push his image away. Everything I knew came from Mum.
She claimed Dad drank, ran around, and finally, after one last row, she threw him out of the house. Said he never tried to come back, never called, never cared. Even when he showed up for my first day of school—drunk, she insisted—he made a scene and disappeared forever. Two decades had passed. I grew up angry, certain he’d chosen an easier life without us.
When I got engaged, my fiancé suddenly asked:
“Are you going to invite your dad to the wedding?”
I hesitated.
“I don’t even know… Maybe I would, but I’ve no idea where he is. And should I even bother?”
“You still talk to his sister, don’t you? Ask her. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
He was right. I went to see Aunt Marie—the only one from Dad’s side I still spoke to. We didn’t meet often, but it was always warm. Mum couldn’t stand her, said she always made excuses for her brother.
Aunt Marie answered the door in her dressing gown, surprised.
“Emily? Is everything alright?”
“I need to talk. About Dad…”
She was silent a long while, then sighed heavily.
“I thought you’d figure it out yourself in time. But I suppose it’s overdue. Your father wasn’t what your mother said. He wasn’t an angel, no. But he wasn’t a monster either. He loved you. Only… Your mum was unbearably jealous. He helped a neighbour carry her shopping—that’s all it took for her to kick him out. She screamed, forbade him from coming near the house. Then she told him you weren’t even his, though she knew it was a lie. He stood under your window in the rain, sent gifts—all sent back. Your mother destroyed him. And she took your father from you.”
I sat in silence, hands clenched. The world inside my head tilting. Twenty years, living a lie. My anger built on nothing. Mum had cut me off from his love without a second thought.
When I told her I wanted to invite Dad to the wedding, she flared up like a match:
“If you do that, forget you ever had a mother! Him or me—choose!”
I didn’t answer. For the first time, I chose myself. Silently.
On the wedding day, everything was like a film—rush, nerves, rain against the windows. The umbrella had vanished, the driver was honking, guests waiting at the registry office. I rushed out, my dress tangling, when suddenly an umbrella opened above me.
A man in a black coat stood there. His face was older but familiar. Silver hair, kind eyes.
“Hello, love,” he said softly.
I cried. Something inside me collapsed—a spring of old pain, tension, sorrow, finally broken.
“Hi, Dad…”
“Sorry for turning up uninvited. Marie mentioned the wedding.”
“Thank you for coming,” I breathed.
“But your mum—”
“I’m grown. I decide who stands with me on the biggest day of my life. Let’s go. They’re waiting.”
He nodded silently and opened the car door. In that moment, I knew—it truly was the happiest day of my life. The day I let go of the past… and felt, for the first time, that I wasn’t alone.
