7 April
I never imagined Id find myself wearing a white dress again. After losing my husband, life became a string of colourless daysmy only responsibility, to keep breathing and to care for our daughter, just a babe of eight months. But his parents refused to let me crumble. They took me in, treated me as one of their own. I mean that quite literally.
They told me I was a daughter to them, that my little girl would always be their granddaughter. That wasnt going to change, even though he was no longer with us.
Five years later, his mother arrived at my house with a familiar twinkle in her eye, the sort that always meant she had something planned.
Dear, Id like to introduce you to someone, she said, stirring her tea in my kitchen.
Oh, please, not this again, I replied, even though deep down, I was touched to still be included in the family, to matter as much as ever.
Hes my nephew. An engineer, divorced, no children. Andhe cooks.
He cooks? I asked, as if that was the most important consideration in the world.
As it turned out, he was everything she described. Patient with my daughter, gentle with my wounds and, yes, a better cook than me. At first, it felt strangehe was, after all, a relative by marriage of my late husband. But his Dad set my mind at ease.
Hed want to see you happy. And this young man is a good soul.
One year on, he knelt in front of my daughter and meright there in the same park I used to visit with my husband.
So, shall the three of us get married? he asked, glancing at my girl more than at me.
My daughter, now six, looked at him solemnly.
Will I still get to see Grandma and Grandad?
Every Sunday, he promised.
And thats how we agreed.
On the wedding morning, as I was getting ready, his mother came into the room in tears.
Im so thrilled for you, love. And I just know he is too.
Thank you for never letting me go, I whispered, hugging her closely.
When the moment to walk down the aisle arrived, I knew who I wanted at my side. When his Dad appeared at the door, suited and with tearful eyes, my heart both ached and lifted.
Ready, my girl? he asked, offering his hand.
Im ready, Dad, I replied. Because thats just what he was to me.
As we walked down the aisle, I could hear voices in the crowd. Someone murmured, asking if he was the father of my first husband. He leant in and whispered, Let them talk. Ill walk you down the aisle again if need be.
Through my tears, I laughed.
When we reached the groom, he didnt simply place my hand into his. He hugged us both.
Youre both my family, he declared for all to hear. And to those whisperingthis isnt unusual. This is love.
The ceremony felt quiet, genuine. My daughter carried the rings. His mother cried, sitting in the front row. And when we were declared a family, I felt a warm presence, as if someone was blessing us.
At the reception, his Dad raised a toast. He spoke about the families we create, about love that endures, and about how I would always be his daughter-in-lawnow with two sons: one in heaven, and one by my side.
Later, I saw him dancing with my daughter, making her laugh, while his wife snapped photos with the pride of a true grandmother.
People still ask why my former father-in-law walked me down the aisle. I just smile and say, He was never former to me. Hes my Dad.
Life has taught me that family isnt just something youre born with. Sometimes, its the love you choose, and the loyalty that stands firm, even through loss. If ever faced with the same choice, I hope I would do just the same.
