I met Daniel in a coffee shop when he dropped his cards. Helping him sparked a connection. On our third date, he told me about his son Evan, who was polite but distant. When I offered help with homework, Evan said, “You’re not my mom.” I said I wasn’t trying to be, and I kept trying.
Daniel proposed, and I said yes. Evan’s congratulations felt forced. On our wedding day, Evan pulled me aside and said, “Don’t marry my dad.” He handed me an envelope revealing Daniel’s plan to marry me for my money and divorce me.
Evan had overheard a call and printed the proof. He admitted he kept his distance to protect me. I hugged him, grateful for his bravery. I had a prenup drawn up. Daniel refused to sign and called Evan a traitor. I ended the wedding and left with Evan.
He asked if I hated him; I told him I loved him for saving me. Months later, Evan sent a letter from his aunt’s home, doing well. I keep his letter and the canceled wedding papers, thankful for the son who saved me from heartbreak.
