Five years after losing my wife, my daughter and I attended my best friend’s wedding. But my world crumbled when he lifted the bride’s veil. As my daughter whispered, “Daddy, why are you crying?” the bride looked into my eyes… and in that instant, everything fell apart.

I had never planned to go to that party. It was my friend Marcos who dragged me along, swearing he’d help me “get out of this funk.”

I’d been working double shifts at the construction site for weeks and my body felt like it was made of cement.

“Just an hour,” Marcos insisted, almost pushing me through the door of an apartment in the center of Madrid. “Then you go home and continue being a hermit.”

How funny, the most important moments always come when you least expect them.

The party was full of people who looked like they hadn’t lifted anything heavier than a glass of wine. I, in my worn jeans and old T-shirt, felt out of place.

But then I saw her. Lucia.

She wasn’t supposed to be there either. I later learned she’d just gone to drop something off for a friend.

Our eyes met across the room, and something clicked. Sparks, connection, whatever you want to call it; I knew I wanted him to be a part of my life.

“Who is that?” I asked Marcos, nodding toward her.

He followed my gaze and whistled softly. “Lucía. Don’t even try it, man. Her family owns half of Madrid.”

But I was already walking towards her.

He smiled as I approached, and that smile hit me like a hammer.

“I’m Javier,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Lucia,” he replied, his voice soft but confident. His hand was small in mine, but his grip was firm. “You seem as uncomfortable here as I am.”

We talked for hours that night. It wasn’t what I expected (no daddy’s girl attitude, just warmth and genuine curiosity), and by the time I walked her to her car, I knew I was in trouble.

“My parents would hate you,” she told me, the moon illuminating her dark hair.

“Is that a problem?” I asked.

He looked at me with eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. “Probably. But I don’t think I care.”

Six months later, we got married. Her parents didn’t come to the wedding. They completely disinherited her: no inheritance, no family reunions, nothing.

But Lucia just squeezed my hand and said, “I don’t care about money. I just want you.”

And for a while, it was enough.

We moved into a small two-bedroom apartment. I worked on construction sites during the day and studied architectural design at night. Lucía got a job at a gallery. We were happy, or so I thought.

Until Alma was born, and something changed. The sparkle in Lucía’s eyes began to fade. She began to compare our life with the one she’d left behind.

“My college roommate just bought a house on the coast,” she commented one night while we were eating macaroni in our small kitchen. Alma was sleeping in her crib next to us.

“That’s great,” I replied, without looking up from the plans I was studying.

“He invited us to go. I had to tell him we couldn’t afford it.”

Her words pierced me. “We’re fine, Lucia. Things will get better.”

“When?” she asked, her voice cutting. “When Alma goes to college? When we retire? I’m tired of waiting for the ‘best’ to come along, Javier.”

The arguments became more frequent. He hated keeping us on a budget, despising our humble life.

“This is not what I wanted,” he said.

As if I’d cheated on her. As if love had to pay the bills.

“You knew who I was when you married me,” I reminded her during a particularly heated argument.

“Maybe that was the mistake,” she replied coldly. “I thought you’d be more by now.”

The next day, I came home early from work with flowers to surprise her. The house was quiet.

The suitcase and all his things were gone.

In the crib, I found a note:

“I want a divorce. I’m sorry, but our marriage was a mistake. I left Alma with Mrs. Martinez from the fifth floor. Keep her.”

I called his cell phone a hundred times. No answer. I went to his parents’ mansion, desperate, my eyes wide open.

The security guard didn’t let me through.

“You are not welcome here, sir,” he said, almost pitying me.

“Please, I just need to talk to Lucia,” I begged.

“Sir, you have to go.”

Two days later, I received the divorce papers. Lucía had relinquished parental rights over Alma. Her father’s lawyers handled everything with brutal efficiency.

Then came the final blow.

Six months after he left, I called his parents’ house for the last time.

“She’s dead,” her mother told me in a flat voice. “Lucia was in a car accident. Don’t call anymore. You meant nothing to her.”

He hung up.

I collapsed on the kitchen floor, crying until Alma woke up crying too.

They didn’t even let me see her grave. They erased her from my life as if she’d never existed.

I threw myself into work and raising Alma. I finished my studies and started designing houses instead of just building them. People noticed my talent.

Within three years, I had my own company. Alma grew up a bright and happy girl, just like her mother.

Five years passed. Life went on, and the pain became a faint throb.
Until the invitation arrived.

Esteban, my best friend of years, was getting married. We’d lost touch after he enlisted in the army, but now he wanted me at his wedding.

“What do you think, Almita? Are we going to see Uncle Esteban get married?” I asked her while she colored.

“Will there be cake?” she asked seriously.

I laughed. “Yes, a big, fancy one.”

“Let’s go then,” he decided, returning to his drawing.

The wedding was at a coastal resort, filled with white flowers and a sea breeze. Esteban hugged me tightly when I arrived.

“Man, look at you! You’re quite the winner,” he said, tapping me on the arm. “And this beauty must be Alma.”

Alma smiled shyly.

The ceremony was beautiful. Guests filled the white chairs on the beach. Alma sat next to me, wiggling her feet and playing with the flower I put in her hair.

The music started and everyone stood up.

The bride walked down the aisle with her veil covering her face.

And then the moment arrived.

Stephen smiled as she approached. When he reached her, he gently lifted her veil.

I stopped breathing. Tears streamed down my face before I realized I was crying.

Alma looked at me, confused. “Daddy, why are you crying?”

I froze, seeing the ghost of my dead ex-wife dressed as a bride.

Lucia smiled at the guests, but her eyes widened when she saw me with our daughter.

And then he ran away.

Esteban called out to her, puzzled, but she’d already disappeared. I stood up, my legs shaking.

“Keep her.” And in the end, I realized that the best revenge had been to build a happy life without her.