I turned back to Dad. “Let’s go.”
We slipped out the side door, me in my wedding dress, Dad still holding his tie in one hand. We walked to his car in silence. My heart pounded like I’d committed a crime.
Once we were inside, he started the car, then looked at me. “Pancakes?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Pancakes.”
That breakfast ended up being one of the best of my life. We sat in a near-empty diner, the kind with sticky menus and bottomless coffee, and I told him everything.
How I’d found the messages on his laptop by accident. How he denied it at first, then admitted it, swearing it was over. How I hadn’t told anyone except Mom, and how she insisted the shame of canceling would be worse than the betrayal itself.
Dad listened without judgment. When I finished, he sighed and said, “You were about to sign your life away to someone who didn’t value it. I’m proud of you.”
It took a few days before the fallout began. My phone blew up with calls and texts. Some were angry. Some confused. My mom cried for two days straight, but mostly because she didn’t know how to explain it to people.
My ex tried calling too. Left voicemails full of fake apologies and guilt trips. I never responded.
