There were just eight days left until my wedding when my father passed away in his sleep. I was at work when the hospital called and told me there was nothing more they could do. I sat on the corridor floor, stunned, not knowing how to react. My mother had died years ago, and he was all I had left. The woman who looked after his home, who had a key, was the one who found him.

Eight days before my wedding, my father slipped quietly out of this world. He died in his sleep. I was at work when the hospital rang me up. They said there was nothing else that could be done. I sat down on the corridor floor, not knowing how to respond. Mum had passed away years before, and he was all I had left. The lady who helped around his house had found him she had a key, you see.

I was his only child, his pampered boy. We spoke every day. Each morning, he’d call to check I’d eaten breakfast, and in the evening, he’d ask if I’d made it home safely.

The following days blurred into chaos. A vigil, a funeral, people arriving to offer condolences. I barely slept, two hours here and there. I kept checking my phone as if I expected a message from him, as if he was somewhere still listening. My fiancée, Lucy, stood by me the first day, but then started slipping away, like the sadness made her uneasy.

On the third day after the funeral, Lucy texted: We need to talk about the wedding. I replied that I wasnt well, that I couldnt deal with anything like that. She pushed the matter. We met that afternoon, and she spoke plainly: What are we going to do? Everythings paid for the venue, music, dress, menu. We cant lose all that money.

I stared at her, disbelieving. I told her, I’ve just buried my father. Im grieving. I dont have it in me for celebrations, dancing or glasses raised. She said she understood my pain, but we had to be sensible, that we couldnt just throw the money away.

So I got up, and told her wed sort the accounts. I asked her to tell me what she’d paid, what her family had paid, and what Id contributed. I withdrew all the savings Id set aside for our future home and handed her everything, not a penny missing. Passed her the envelope and said, Thats it. I cant marry someone who thinks more about a party than about my grief in the darkest moment of my life.

Lucy fell silent. Then tears came; she said I was exaggerating, that I was acting out of anger, and Id regret it. I replied that I hadnt lost a distant relative. Id lost my father the only one I had. If she couldnt understand that, she wasnt the woman I wanted to build a family with.

We called everything off. Notified the guests, told them the wedding was cancelled. Most understood though many assumed we were only postponing. A few told me I was mad, that I could get married and mourn later. But I couldnt. I wasnt capable of smiling for photos and raising champagne glasses.

Time passed. I moved through my own process. Sold Dads car, sorted out his house, closed that chapter. Recently, I heard Lucy is married to someone else now. Just a year after us. Saw the pictures online white dress, grand celebration, laughter, toasts.

Sometimes I wonder if I was too abrupt, if I should have thought differently. But then I remember that afternoon sitting there together, her talking about pounds and payments while I was falling apart inside and I feel sure I made the right choice.