“He’s gone. His wallet is on the nightstand. And his suit is still hanging in the closet.”
I stood up too fast. My mother appeared behind her, eyes already wet.
“He left, Lydia,” she whispered. “He actually left.”
I stared at my reflection, a bride without a father, and for one terrible second I could not tell if I was being abandoned or warned.
The clock on the bridal suite wall read 10 minutes to noon, and my father’s phone still rang straight to voicemail.
I stood frozen in my dress, staring at the screen, willing Dad’s name to light up.
Two hundred guests were already seated. The string quartet had started its second pass through the prelude. My mother sat in the corner, mascara streaking, a tissue twisted in her fist.
“He’s not coming, Lydia,” she whispered.
“His suit is still in the closet. His wallet is on the nightstand. What more do you need?”
I needed Dad to come. I needed him to say he was sorry for the fight, that he was wrong about Paul, that he just got cold feet about giving me away.
Part of me hoped Dad would walk through that door. Another part was terrified.
What if he actually skipped the wedding, just like he’d threatened the night before?
A soft knock came at the door, and then Paul stepped inside, already dressed, already calm.
“My love,” he said, taking my hands. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t.
“Lydia. Look at me.”
I did.
“He’s punishing you,” Paul said gently. “He told you he wouldn’t come, and he meant it. Don’t let him ruin our future. He’ll come around once he sees we’ve built something real.”
“What if something happened to him?”
“His suit is hanging in his hotel room. He packed nothing because he wanted you to feel exactly this. Don’t give him that power, Liddy.”
I wanted to believe him. It was easier than believing my father had vanished into thin air. So I swallowed the panic and let Paul kiss my forehead.
I walked down the aisle on my mother’s arm.
I said, “Yes,” when the priest asked me if I took Paul as my husband.
I smiled for 200 people who whispered behind their champagne glasses about Dad.
The next three days passed in a strange fog. Paul booked us into a honeymoon suite an hour from the city, and every time I reached for my phone, he was there with another glass of wine, another distraction, or another reason to wait.
“Call your mother tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight is ours.”
“I just want to know if Dad’s home.”
“Lydia,” Paul’s voice sharpened, then softened. “You’re going to make yourself sick. Let him come to you.”
On the third morning, my phone rang while Paul was in the shower. I grabbed it before the second ring.
“Lydia?”
“My name is Mr. Hensley. I’m your father’s lawyer. I need you to come to my office today. Alone, please.”
My stomach turned over.
“Is he… okay?”
There was a long pause. “Please come. I’ll explain in person.”
I told Paul that I needed to see my mother. He searched my face a beat too long.
“I’ll drive you.”
“I want to go alone, Paul.”
“Liddie.”
“Alone… please.”
“Call me once you get there,” he said, and I nodded.
