I met Emily three years after my wife, Karen, passed away. Losing her had shattered me; she was the woman I’d planned to grow old with and the mother of our precious daughter, Amy. I thought I’d never heal, but eventually, I started dreaming of a new start. My mother reminded me that while no one could replace Karen, it was okay to want joy.
When I introduced Emily to Amy, who was nine then, I was clear: “I can only continue this if you get along with my daughter.” Emily agreed, saying Amy came first. To my relief, they hit it off. Amy was thrilled to have another woman in her life, and two years later, I proposed. Even my in-laws gave us their blessing, seeing how much Amy loved her.
But as the wedding preparations began, things changed. Amy was excited to be the flower girl, but Emily suddenly suggested her nephew instead. “Amy is my daughter,” I insisted. “She’ll be the flower girl.” I noticed Emily’s annoyance but brushed it off as stress. The night before the wedding, Amy asked if I thought her mom would be happy for us. I told her I believed she would.
The day arrived. Everything looked perfect until I was waiting to head to the altar and overheard Emily’s bridesmaids behind a closed door. “Em was clear,” one said. “We need to accidentally lock Amy in the dressing room.” Another bridesmaid was horrified, asking why. The reply turned my blood to ice: “Emily can’t stand seeing Amy right now. She looks identical to Jim’s late wife.”
Anger surged through me. I found Amy in the dressing room and told her, “You don’t have to walk down as a flower girl. You’re walking with me.” As Emily floated down the aisle, her smile vanished when she saw Amy standing right beside me at the altar.
“What is she doing here?” she hissed. “Are you surprised?” I asked. “Supposed to be in a locked room, Emily?”
The guests began to murmur. I turned to the crowd and announced loudly, “Emily and her bridesmaids planned to lock my daughter away because she reminds Emily of my late wife.” Gasps rippled through the room. Emily pleaded for a chance to explain, but there was no explanation for hurting my child.
“If you can’t accept my past and my daughter,” I declared, “you don’t belong in our future. This wedding is off.”
Emily and her bridesmaids walked out in tears. I knelt and hugged Amy tightly, promising that no one would ever come between us. The guests actually applauded as I led my daughter back down the aisle—not as a groom, but as a proud father.
The next morning over breakfast, Amy asked if I was sure about not marrying Emily. “She made you happy, didn’t she?” “For a moment,” I told her. “But she was willing to hurt you for her own happiness. That’s not real joy.” I reassured her that I didn’t blame her at all. Seeing her smile, I knew I’d done the right thing. No one comes before my daughter.
