A week before my wedding, I found out that my fiancé was cheating on me. In tears, I came to my mom for advice. She, of course, supported me, but convinced me not to cancel the wedding, saying that everything had already been paid for, and I’d feel ashamed in front of our families. I agreed even though it didn’t seem right. And just before walking the aisle, my dad pulled me aside.

His face looked tense, but calm. He said quietly, “Are you sure this is what you want, baby girl? Because I’ll walk you out the back door right now and we’ll get pancakes instead.”

I stared at him, frozen, bouquet trembling in my hands. No one had asked me that. Not like that. Everyone had assumed I’d go through with it. I’d been sleepwalking all week, just trying to hold it together.

“I don’t know, Dad,” I whispered. “I don’t want to disappoint everyone.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders gently. “The only person you owe anything to right now is yourself. Do you want to marry him?”

I shook my head before I could even think about it. “No. I don’t trust him. I can’t.”

“Then say the word,” he said, his eyes steady. “We’ll leave.”

I looked down the aisle from the little side room. The music was playing. People were turning in their seats. My soon-to-be-husband was up there, smiling like nothing had happened.