Dad never left us. It wasn’t how Mum made it out to be…
I carried that hurt in my heart for twenty long years. The whole time, Mum kept saying the same thing: Dad walked out on us, vanished into thin air, cut us out of his life. The last time I saw him, I was seven. All that stayed were a few old photos and hazy scraps of memory that just brought back pain and confusion. I tried to push his face out of my mind. Everything I knew came from Mum.
She told me Dad drank, fooled around, and in the end, she kicked him out after another row. Said he never tried to come back, never called, never cared. Even when he showed up on my first day of school—drunk, causing a scene—then disappeared for good. Twenty years passed. I grew up angry at him, convinced he’d taken the easy way out.
When I got engaged, my fiancé suddenly asked, “Are you going to invite your dad to the wedding?”
I froze. “I don’t even know… I might want to, but I’ve no idea where he is. Anyway, would it even matter?”
“You still talk to his sister, right? Ask Auntie Rose. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
He was right. I went to see Auntie Rose—the only one from Dad’s side I still kept in touch with. We didn’t meet often, but it was always warm when we did. Mum couldn’t stand her, said she always made excuses for her brother.
Auntie Rose opened the door in her dressing gown, surprised. “Emily? Everything alright?”
“I need to talk. About Dad…”
She went quiet for ages, then sighed. “I thought you’d figure it out yourself eventually. But I suppose it’s time. Your dad wasn’t the man your mum made him out to be. Not a saint, no. But not a monster either. He loved you. It’s just… your mum was impossible with her jealousy. He carried a neighbour’s shopping bags—got booted out for it. She screamed at him, banned him from even coming near the house. Then she told him you weren’t his, even though she knew it was a lie. He stood outside in the rain, sent gifts—all of it got thrown back. Your mum broke him. And she took your dad away from you.”
I sat there, hands clenched. My whole world tilted. Twenty years, living a lie. My anger was built on nothing. Mum had shut me off from his love without giving either of us a chance.
When I told her I wanted Dad at the wedding, she snapped like a firework. “If you do this, forget about me! It’s him or me!”
I didn’t answer. For the first time in my life, I chose myself. Silently.
Wedding day was chaos—rushing, nerves, rain pounding the windows. The umbrella went missing, the driver was honking, guests were already waiting at the registry office. I bolted out the door, tripping over my dress, when suddenly, an umbrella opened over my head.
A man in a black coat stood there. His face was older, but familiar. Grey hair, kind eyes.
“Hey, love,” he said softly.
I burst into tears. Everything inside me uncoiled—like a spring of anger and hurt finally breaking.
“Hi, Dad…”
“Sorry for turning up uninvited. Rose said it was your big day.”
“Thank you for coming,” I whispered.
“What about your mum—”
“I’m grown now. I decide who’s with me on the important days. Come on. They’re waiting.”
He nodded, silent, and opened the car door for me. Right then, I knew—this really was the happiest day of my life. The day I let go of the past… and finally felt, deep down, that I wasn’t alone.
