At my father’s wedding, what began as a day of celebration quickly spiraled into the most painful moment of my life. His speech started off warm, full of smiles and charm, but ended with words that cut me so deeply I could barely breathe. In front of everyone, he shattered me, and I walked out, leaving behind the picture-perfect scene while uncovering a truth my mother had kept hidden for years.
Seven years had passed since my parents divorced, and even now, I never fully understood why. I was the only adopted child. My brother and sister were their biological kids—Tommy had Dad’s crooked smile, Jessica had Mom’s nose. Still, I had never felt truly different. My mother always avoided answering when I asked about the divorce. Her polite, forced smile told me enough, but she never gave details. My father, on the other hand, remained bitter, carrying the divorce like an open wound, blaming everyone but himself.
I do remember one fight, though. I was nine, crouched at the top of the stairs, listening to them scream. My mother’s voice was sharp and unrelenting: “You’re a jerk who doesn’t deserve his kids.” I didn’t understand back then, but I filed the words away, waiting for the day they’d make sense.
That day came during his wedding. Everything was staged to perfection—cream and gold décor, flowers on every table, guests laughing politely. It was…
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