Five years after my wife’s de.ath, I took my daughter to

Five years after my wife’s supposed death, my daughter Emma and I attended my friend Stefan’s wedding. As he lifted the bride’s veil, my world shattered—Natalie, my presumed-dead wife, stood before me. Tears streamed down my face as Emma asked, “Dad, why are you crying?” Natalie locked eyes with me, then fled.

Years ago, I’d been dragged to a party by Stefan, feeling out of place in my worn jeans. There, I met Natalie. Despite her wealthy background, we connected deeply, marrying six months later. Her parents disowned her, but we built a modest life. Emma’s birth changed things; Natalie grew dissatisfied, eventually leaving with a note demanding divorce and abandoning Emma. Her family claimed she died in a car crash, leaving me to grieve alone.

At the wedding, Natalie admitted her family staged her death to escape. Furious, I confronted her, and Stefan, heartbroken, called off the wedding. Two weeks later, over drinks, Stefan and I processed the betrayal. I realized I’d built a fulfilling life with Emma and my career, finally feeling free.