I’m Ryan, and five years after my wife’s supposed death, I took my daughter, Ava, to my buddy Luke’s wedding. It turned my life upside down. Years ago, Luke dragged me to a party after a grueling week on a construction site. “Just show up,” he said, nudging me into a packed apartment. That’s where I saw Claire. She was there briefly, helping a friend. Our eyes locked, and I felt a pull. Luke warned me her family was rich, but I approached anyway.
Claire’s genuine smile hit me hard. “I’m Ryan,” I said. “Claire,” she answered, joking about feeling like outsiders. We talked for hours, her warmth drawing me in. Six months later, we wed, though her parents disowned her. “I only want you,” she said. We lived simply—I worked construction, studied architecture; she worked at a bookstore. When Ava was born, Claire changed, missing her old luxury. “My friend bought a yacht,” she’d sigh over our cheap dinners. Arguments flared. “I didn’t sign up for this,” she’d say.
One day, I found her gone, a note in Ava’s crib: “Divorce me. Keep Ava.” She signed away her rights, and her parents’ lawyers finalized it. Six months later, her dad said she died in a wreck. I collapsed, grieving with Ava. I raised her alone, got my degree, and built a design business. Ava grew into a joyful five-year-old. Then Luke’s wedding invite came. At the seaside venue, Ava sat with me, twirling her hair flower. When Luke lifted the bride’s veil, I saw Claire—alive. I cried, and Ava asked, “Daddy, why?”
Claire saw me and fled. I left Ava with Luke’s cousin and found Claire shaking in a hall. “They told me you were dead,” I said, voice breaking. She confessed her father faked her death to start over. “You let Ava think you’re gone,” I raged. Luke overheard, shocked. I explained Claire’s betrayal. He confronted her, and she admitted it. The wedding ended, her parents taking her away. Over drinks later, Luke said, “She lied to me too.” I felt free, knowing her leaving wasn’t my fault. With Ava and my success, I’m stronger than ever.
