**Diary Entry**
My father never abandoned us. It wasn’t at all how Mum had made it seem.
I carried that bitterness in my heart for twenty long years. The whole time, Mum repeated the same story—that Dad had walked out on us, vanished without a trace, erased us from his life. The last time I saw him, I was seven. All that remained were a few faded photographs and hazy scraps of memory, which only brought pain and confusion. I tried to push his image away. Everything I knew came from Mum.
She claimed he drank, caroused, and finally, after one last row, she threw him out. Said he never tried to come back, never called, never cared. Even when he turned up on my first day of school—drunk, making a scene—then disappeared for good. Twenty years passed. I grew up angry, convinced he’d chosen an easy life without us.
When I got engaged, my fiancé asked unexpectedly,
*”Are you going to invite your father to the wedding?”*
I faltered.
*”I don’t even know… Maybe I’d like to, but I’ve no idea where he is. And is it even worth it?”*
*”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 Auntie Rita—the only one from Dad’s side I still spoke to. We didn’t meet often, but she’d always been warm. Mum detested her, called her an apologist for her brother.
Auntie answered the door in her dressing gown, surprised.
*”What’s wrong, Emily? Everything alright?”*
*”I need to talk. About Dad.”*
She was quiet a long moment, then sighed heavily.
*”I thought you’d figure it out in time. But I suppose it’s time you knew. Your father wasn’t the man your mother made him out to be. No saint, sure. But no monster, either. He loved you. It’s just… Your mother was impossibly jealous. He carried a neighbour’s shopping bags—and she threw him out for it. Screamed, banned him from coming near the house. Then she claimed you weren’t even his, though she knew it was a lie. He waited under your window in the rain, sent gifts—all sent back. Your mother destroyed him. And she took your father from you.”*
I sat frozen, hands clenched. My world was collapsing. Twenty years, living a lie. My resentment had been built on deceit. Mum had severed me from his love without giving either of us a chance.
When I told her I wanted to invite Dad to the wedding, she flared up like a struck match:
*”If you do that, you can forget about me! It’s him or me!”*
I said nothing. For the first time, I chose myself—silently.
On the wedding day, it was all chaos—the rush, the nerves, rain lashing the windows. The umbrella was missing, the driver honked impatiently, guests waiting at the registry office. I stumbled out of the building, my dress tangling around my legs, when suddenly, an umbrella opened above me.
A man stood there in a black coat. His face was weathered but familiar. Silver hair, kind eyes.
*”Hello, love,”* he said softly.
I burst into tears. Something inside me snapped—the coiled spring of anger, tension, grief.
*”Hi, Dad.”*
*”Sorry for turning up uninvited. Rita mentioned your wedding.”*
*”Thank you for coming,”* I whispered.
*”And your mother—”*
*”I’m a grown woman. I decide who’s by my side on the most important day. Let’s go. They’re waiting.”*
He nodded, opening the car door for me. In that moment, I knew—this truly was my happiest day. The day I let go of the past… and finally felt, truly, that I wasn’t alone.
**Lesson:** The truth doesn’t always set you free at once—sometimes it breaks you first. But it’s better to be broken by the truth than held together by lies.
