Five years after my wife died, I took my daughter to my best friend’s wedding. But when he lifted the bride’s veil, my whole world came crashing down. When my daughter quietly asked: ‘Daddy, why are you crying?’, the bride met my eyes – and in that moment, everything went to pieces.
I hadn’t planned on going to this meeting. My friend Mark practically forced me into it, vowing that it would ‘shake me out of this despondency.’
I’d been working double shifts at a construction site all week, and every muscle in my body ached like it was filled with cement.
‘Just an hour,’ Mark insisted, nudging me towards the door of some flat in the city centre. ‘And then you can crawl back into your cave.’
It’s strange how the most important turning points in life sneak up on you when you don’t notice them.
The party was full of people who looked like they’d never lifted anything heavier than a martini glass. I felt out of place in my worn jeans and faded T-shirt.
But then I saw Natalie.
She wasn’t supposed to be there either. I found out later that she was just dropping something off for a friend.
Our eyes met, and something clicked. A spark, a connection, call it what you want, but I knew I wanted her in my life.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked Mark, nodding in her direction.
He followed my gaze and whistled softly. “Natalie. Don’t waste your time, kid. Her family owns half the town.”
But I was already walking toward her.
She smiled as I approached, and that smile hit me like a blow to a tree.
‘I’m Jake,’ I said, extending my hand.
‘Natalie,’ she replied, her voice soft but confident. Her hand was small, but her grip was firm. ‘It sounds like you’re as comfortable here as I am.’
We talked for several hours that evening.
She was nothing like I expected (no trust fund princess attitude, just genuine warmth and curiosity). By the end of the evening, I realised I was in trouble.
‘My parents are going to hate you,’ she said as I walked her to her car, moonlight playing in her dark hair.
‘Is that a problem?’ I asked.
She looked at me with the kind of eyes that seemed to see right through me. “It might be. But I don’t care.”
Six months later, we were married. Her parents didn’t attend the wedding. They had cut her off from her family completely: no trust fund, no family holidays, nothing.
But Natalie just squeezed my hand and told me, “I don’t care about the money. I just want you.”
For a while, that was enough.
We moved into a small one-bedroom flat. I worked on a construction site during the day and took classes in architectural design at night. Natalie got a job at a local gallery. We were happy, or so it seemed to me.
Then Emma was born, and something changed.
The warmth in Natalie’s eyes began to fade. She began to compare our life to the one she had left behind.
‘My college roommate just bought a holiday home in the Hamptons,’ she said one evening as we ate macaroni and cheese at our tiny kitchen table. Emma was asleep in her cot next to us.
‘That’s great,’ I said, not lifting my eyes from the blueprints I was studying.
“She invited us to visit. I had to tell her we couldn’t afford the trip.”
I felt reproachful at her words. “We’re fine, Nat. Things will work out.”
‘When?’ – She asked, her voice harsh. “When Emma goes to college? When we retire? I’m tired of waiting for “better,” Jake.”
Our arguments escalated.
She hated keeping a budget and despised our frugal lives.
‘This isn’t what I signed up for,’ she said.
As if I had somehow cheated her. As if love was supposed to pay the bills.
‘You knew who I was when you married me,’ I reminded her during one particularly violent argument.
‘Maybe that was the problem,’ she said coldly. ‘I thought you’d be bigger by now.’
The next day I came home from work early, planning to surprise her with flowers. The flat was quiet.
Natalie’s suitcase and all her belongings were gone.
In the cot, I found a note:
“I want a divorce. I’m sorry, but our marriage was a mistake. I left Emma with Mrs Santiago in the hallway. You can keep her.”
I called her phone hundreds of times. There was no answer. Desperate and wild-eyed, I drove to her parents’ mansion.
The guard wouldn’t let me through the gate.
‘You’re not welcome here, sir,’ he told me with an almost apologetic look.
‘Please, I just need to talk to Natalie,’ I pleaded.
‘Sir, I need you to leave the premises.’
Two days later, I was served with divorce papers. Natalie had relinquished her parental rights to Emma.
Her father’s lawyers had done everything with brutal efficiency.
Then came the final blow.
Six months after she left, I called her parents’ house for the last time.
‘She’s gone,’ her mother said, her voice flat. “Natalie died in a car accident. Don’t call again. You meant nothing to her.”
The line cut off.
I collapsed on our kitchen floor and sobbed until Emma woke up and cried too.
They wouldn’t even let me see her grave. She was cut out of my life as if she never existed.
I plunged headlong into work and raising Emma. I graduated and started designing houses, not just building them. People noticed my talent.
Three years later, I had my own firm. Emma grew into a smart, happy girl who looked like her mother.
Five years passed. Life went on, and the pain dulled to occasional bouts.
Then came the invitation.
Stefan, my best friend from a few years ago, was getting married. We’d barely kept in touch since he’d left for the army, but now he wanted to see me at his wedding.
“What do you think, Em? Should we go and see Uncle Stefan’s wedding?” I asked my daughter as she coloured in.
‘Is there going to be cake?’ – She asked seriously.
I laughed. “There will definitely be a cake. A big, fancy one.”
‘Then we should go,’ she decided, turning back to her masterpiece.
The wedding was at a seaside resort, all white flowers and ocean breeze. Stefan gave me a big hug when we arrived.
“Dude, look at you! So mature and successful,” he said as he lightly tapped me on the arm. ‘And this beautiful girl must be Emma.’
Emma smiled shyly.
The ceremony was beautiful.
The guests filled the white chairs on the beach. Emma sat next to me, swinging her legs and playing with the flower I stuck in her hair.
The music started and everyone stood up.
The bride walked down the aisle with her face covered.
And then the moment came.
Stefan glowed as she approached. As she approached him, he gently lifted her veil.
I stopped breathing. Tears streamed down my face before I realised I was crying.
Emma looked up, embarrassed. ‘Daddy, why are you crying?’
I froze, staring at the ghost of my dead ex-wife in her white wedding dress.
Natalie turned to smile at the guests, but her eyes widened in shock when she saw me standing there with our daughter.
Then she rushed out running.
Stefan called after her in bewilderment, but she was already gone. I stood up, my legs trembling.
‘Stay with Aunt Linda,’ I told Emma and directed her to Stefan’s sister, then followed Natalie.
I found her in the corridor, shivering, pale, clutching at her wedding dress.
‘You’re dead,’ I whispered, my voice trailing off. ‘They told me you were dead.’
She stuttered, ‘I…I didn’t know they told you that.’
I laughed. “I begged them to let me see your grave. I spent years mourning you, Natalie.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I just wanted to find a way out…a fresh start. My father arranged everything.”
Rage rose up in me.
“You let me mourn you. I should have told our daughter that her mother was dead! It’s one thing to give up your parental rights, but something like this? What the hell?”
Natalie shuddered. ‘I thought she’d be better off without me.’
Stefan appeared, looking tense and confused. “What’s going on? Why did my fiancée run away from our wedding? And why are you two fighting?”
I turned to him. “Because five years ago she left me and our daughter. And then her family told me she was dead.”
‘What?’ Stefan’s face lost colour.
“Her father and his lawyers cut all ties. Then they told me she died in a car accident. I mourned for her. Now I see her at the altar marrying my best friend.”
Stefan challenged Natalie. ‘Tell me you didn’t fake your death.’
She couldn’t deny it.
‘Oh God, Natalie,’ Stefan whispered, broken.
Stefan walked away, his face pale, his fists clenched. The wedding was cancelled. Natalie’s parents came out of nowhere and took her away.
They didn’t say a word to me. But I didn’t follow them. Not this time.
Two weeks later, Stefan and I met up for a drink.
‘She fooled everyone,’ he said bitterly, looking into his glass. “Her parents introduced us at some charity event last year. She never mentioned being married before or having a child.”
I nodded, but strangely I felt peaceful. ‘You couldn’t have known.’
‘Are you okay?’ asked Stefan.
I pondered the question. “Yeah, I think I am. For years I wondered what I did wrong and why she left. Now I know it wasn’t about me at all.”
I realised I was no longer broken. I now had a daughter and a successful career.
I had built my life despite the ruins she had left behind. And for the first time in five years, I felt truly, completely free.
