Later that evening, after everyone had gone home, Ethan and I sat together on the back steps.
The air carried the scent of barbecue smoke, fresh grass, and summer rain.
“Do you ever miss him?” Ethan asked.
I knew exactly who he meant.
For a moment I considered lying.
Then I remembered what honesty had cost us—and everything it had given us.
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “Not the man he is. The father I kept hoping he would become.”
Ethan nodded.
I rested my head against his shoulder.
For years, I imagined my wedding aisle would connect two families.
Instead, it became the line separating the life I had inherited from the one I deliberately chose.
My father wanted me to walk alone so I would feel insignificant.
But halfway down that aisle, those chapel doors opened.
And by the time I reached Ethan, I finally understood what I should have realized long before.
