My Father Burst Into the Church and Shouted, The Wedding Is Canceled, I Went Pale When I Learned Why
Kevin’s hold on my hand tightened. “Mr. Matthews, please, this has to be some misunderstanding—”
But Dad cut him off. “You’ve been lying to her!” He looked at me, his eyes blazing with urgency. “Esther, this man is a con artist. He’s after your money and nothing else!”
I shook my head, refusing to believe it. “Kevin loves me,” I insisted.
“Everything was a setup,” Dad said, turning to Kevin with an intense glare. “Meeting you at the support group, rushing into marriage—it’s all part of his scheme.” Then, in an act that would change everything, Dad poured a cup of water onto Kevin’s legs.
Kevin yelped—and to everyone’s shock, he jumped up from his wheelchair, standing on two healthy legs.
Silence fell over the church. My heart dropped as I stared at Kevin, now standing tall, exposed.
“You’ve been pretending to be disabled?” I whispered, betrayal tearing through me. Tears welled in my eyes as Kevin tried to explain, but it was too late. Police officers stepped forward, placing him in handcuffs as Dad’s voice broke the silence: “This man isn’t who he claims to be, Esther. His real name isn’t even Kevin.”
Hours later, numb and heartbroken, I sat alone in my room, the weight of shattered dreams crushing me. A soft knock on the door pulled me back, and my mother stepped in with tear-stained eyes, asking if Dad could come in.
He sat beside me, regret and sorrow on his face. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know this isn’t what you wanted for today.”
“How did you know?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He explained that he’d seen Kevin walking in the garden that morning and became suspicious. “We were so focused on the business and our work that we failed you, Esther,” he admitted, his voice thick with guilt. “Can you forgive us?”
Tears flowed as I leaned into his embrace. “It’ll take time, Dad. But…I’m glad you were there.”
As weeks passed, I began to heal. One afternoon, I wheeled myself into my art studio, determined to turn my pain into something meaningful. I picked up a brush, and on the canvas, a phoenix began to rise from the ashes. My phone buzzed with a text from Lia: “How are you holding up? Want some company?”
I replied with a smile, “Painting helps. Love you, Lia!”
Later that night, my parents and I gathered in the kitchen to cook together, laughing and sharing stories. For the first time in years, I felt the love and connection I had yearned for right here with them.
Although my heart remains bruised, I’m grateful that Dad saved me from the greatest mistake of my life. While healing will take time, I’m no longer alone.