When my dad called to invite my 12-year-old brother and me to his wedding, I thought the worst part would be watching him marry the woman who destroyed our family. I had no idea my quiet little brother had been planning something that would make their special day unforgettable. My parents had been together for nearly twenty years.
To the outside world, they looked like the perfect couple. Dad was charming, always telling jokes, the kind of man people wanted to be around. Mom was quieter, grounded, the one who kept everything in order.
To my little brother, Alex, and me, they were simply Mom and Dad, the foundation of our world. That foundation cracked two years ago when Mom discovered Dad was having an affair. Not just a fling, but a full-blown relationship with a woman named Vanessa.
She was younger, glamorous in a showy sort of way, the type who thrived on attention. I’ll never forget the night Mom found out. She sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, while Dad paced the floor, trying to justify himself.
“It just happened,” he said, as if that explained anything. The divorce came fast after that. He moved in with Vanessa, leaving us to pick up the pieces.
Alex was only ten at the time, old enough to understand betrayal but too young to know how to process it. He went quiet, his jokes disappearing, his trust in Dad shattered. I was sixteen, old enough to be angry, to resent every smile on Dad’s face when he picked us up for his weekend visits, pretending life hadn’t changed.
Mom, for her part, held her head high, but I could see the cracks in her strength. She’d given her life to him, and he’d thrown it away. So when Dad called to say he was marrying Vanessa and wanted us at the wedding, I nearly laughed in his face.
“I know it’s awkward,” he said on the phone, his voice hesitant. “But you and Alex are my kids. I want you there.
It would mean a lot to me.”
I bit back the urge to ask if he had thought about what meant a lot to us when he cheated. But Alex was listening from the couch, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Fine,” I said finally, though every bone in my body screamed against it.
“We’ll come.”
Alex didn’t say a word. He just nodded, almost too quickly, as though agreeing before he could change his mind. I thought he was just being polite.
I had no idea what was going on inside his head. The wedding was held at a fancy country club on the edge of town. On the drive there, Alex sat silently beside me in his little suit, staring out the window.
“You okay?” I asked him. “Yeah,” he said. But his voice was flat, and he kept fiddling with something in his pocket.
I didn’t push. When we arrived, the place looked like something out of a magazine. White chairs lined the lawn, flowers draped across a wooden arch, and a string quartet played softly.
Guests mingled in expensive outfits, sipping champagne. I felt out of place instantly. And angry.
Angry at how easily Dad had traded in our family for this show. Then I saw him. Standing near the arch, grinning in a tailored suit, shaking hands like he was running for office.
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