I’ll never forget the hollow feeling when I reached the altar and realized Karl wasn’t there. The whispers, the pitying looks, my father’s suspicious calm – it all haunted me for decades. I eventually married someone else, had a family, but never understood why Karl abandoned me.
Then last year, a letter arrived that changed everything. Karl, now a retired schoolteacher in Oregon, finally explained what happened that day. My father had cornered him before the ceremony, threatening to destroy his life if he didn’t leave immediately. Terrified but believing it was the only way to protect me, Karl fled.
Reading his words, I felt both heartbreak and relief. All those years wondering if I’d done something wrong, if he’d stopped loving me – and the truth was he never stopped at all. We’ve been writing letters weekly since, two seventy-somethings rediscovering the love we thought we’d lost.
Next month, Karl is moving back to Michigan. We’re not making any grand gestures – no white dress this time. Just morning coffee together and the quiet joy of finally getting the happy ending my father tried to steal from us.
