When my father called to invite my 12-year-old brother and me to his wedding, I thought the hardest part would be seeing the woman who had broken everything we once called family.
I didn’t know that my quiet, wounded little brother was carrying something in his heart — something that would make the day unforgettable, though not in the way our father hoped.
For nearly twenty years, my parents lived what everyone described as a storybook marriage. Dad — vibrant, charming, the kind of man whose laughter could fill a room. Mom — steady, patient, the soft heartbeat that kept our home warm.
To Lucas and me, they weren’t just our parents. They were our foundation.
