Chapter 1: The Man at the Altar
I always imagined my wedding day would be the happiest day of my life. I thought I would cry because my father was walking beside me, because the white roses smelled like childhood prayers, because the man waiting at the altar was supposed to be my future.
My father had raised me alone. My mother vanished when I was too young to remember her face clearly, and Dad never used her absence as a wound against me. He worked nights, cooked badly but lovingly, braided my hair before school, and told me one sentence so often it became the roof over my life:
“Your life will be better than mine. I’ll do everything to make sure of it.”
Then the church doors opened. Julian stood at the altar in a black suit, calm and handsome, smiling like he had waited his whole life for me.
But my father stopped walking.
His hand tightened around my arm until it hurt.
