At my wedding, my biological father stood up and claimed he gave me the day of my dreams. I froze in shock. The truth? He
hadn’t spent a dime. The man who made it all happen, Daniel, sat quietly across the room, heartbroken. Everything was perfect
—the soft glow of the lights, the music, the laughter. My new husband was by the bar, my mom was teary-eyed, and Daniel was
at our table, folding his napkin, just like alwas. Then, my biological father, who’d shown up late with a drink in hand.
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