As I stood at the altar, ready to marry the man I loved, the church doors flew open. Ethan — my fiancé — walked in late,
disheveled… and holding a little girl who looked exactly like him. Gasps echoed. I froze. He looked straight at me and said, “I
need to tell you the truth.” The truth? The little girl was his daughter. Born before we met.
Dropped at his door that morning by a woman from his past — with nothing but a note that read: “She’s your problem now.
Enjoy your wedding.” Ethan never knew. He was just as shocked. But he brought the girl — Olivia — because he didn’t know
what else to do.
I was stunned. Crushed. We had talked about children, but I’d made peace with not being able to have them. And now here he
was, holding the one thing I could never give him. But then I looked at Olivia. Scared. Innocent. Clutching his jacket like it was
her whole world. I didn’t scream.
I didn’t run. I knelt, looked her in the eye, and said, “Hi Olivia. I’m Teresa. Want to walk down the aisle with me?” She slipped
her tiny hand into mine. And together — Ethan, Olivia, and I — walked down the aisle, toward a future none of us saw coming.
