My stepdad, Tim, raised me since I was 8. Dad hated Tim. For my wedding, my dad said he\u2019d pay all the expenses, but on one condition:
\nTim can\u2019t attend.<\/p>\n
Tim agreed and didn\u2019t say a word. On the big day, as Dad was walking me down the aisle, Tim stands quietly at the very back of the church, barely visible behind the tall floral arch.<\/p>\n
I see him. I see his<\/p>\n
hands clasped tightly in front of him, the familiar tremble in his fingers when he\u2019s nervous. His eyes meet mine just for a second\u2014just long enough for me to see the smile he tries to hide.<\/p>\n
I freeze.<\/p>\n
<\/ins><\/div>\n
My father\u2019s arm tightens around mine. \u201cKeep walking,\u201d he mutters under his breath, his tone stiff, rehearsed. Everyone is watching.<\/p>\n
But something in my che<\/p>\n
twists. It\u2019s not nerves. It\u2019s not fear. It\u2019s grief, maybe. Or guilt.<\/p>\n
Because Tim never missed a single piano recital. Not one parent-teacher night. He was the one who picked me up from sleepovers when I got scared. The one who built me a dollhouse from scratch, even though he had no clue what he was doing. The one who sat beside me on the bathroom floor<\/p>\n
during my worst teenage breakdown, holding my hand like I was made of porcelain.<\/p>\n
And now I\u2019m walking toward my future without him.<\/p>\n
I take another step. My dress feels heavier than before. The lace around my shoulders itches like thorns.<\/p>\n
Then I stop.<\/p>\n
My groom, Jason, is smiling at the altar. The minister waits patiently, book in hand. The guests murmur,<\/p>\n
during my worst teenage breakdown, holding my hand like I was made of porcelain.<\/p>\n
And now I\u2019m walking toward my future without him.<\/p>\n
I take another step. My dress feels heavier than before. The lace around my shoulders itches like thorns.<\/p>\n
Then I stop.<\/p>\n
My groom, Jason, is smiling at the altar. The minister waits patiently, book in hand. The guests murmur,<\/p>\n
confused.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I whisper to my dad. \u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
His jaw tightens. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t walk down this aisle pretending I\u2019m whole when the man who raised me is watching from the shadows.\u201d<\/p>\n