Dad,

I’ve spent most of my adult life hating you. What kind of person abandons their own child? For years, this question haunted me, and then your journal surfaced with the answers I needed. Jim Waterson. After all these years, the truth finally surfaces. I won’t be looking him up. Maybe someday when I’m a little stronger, I’ll change my mind, but right now, the last thing I need is another bogus dad.

Guess I’m supposed to thank you, huh? You knew I wasn’t yours, but you raised me anyway. You spoiled me. There, I said it. You gave me everything a kid could want but neglected to offer the one and only thing I truly needed. Love.

I always wondered what I did wrong. Why you didn’t want me. Why I was never good enough. You made me believe I was stupid and ugly and would never amount to anything. You were supposed to be my father. A person I trusted, a man I worked so hard to make proud, and all you did was tell me how worthless I was every chance you got. You know what that does to a person?

I failed out of school because of you.

I became an addict because of you.

I almost died because of you.

Everything wrong in my life is because of you.

You’ve been my crutch. My greatest excuse. I blamed you for everything. I let you take the fall for my own shortcomings, but no more. The true mark of maturity is when somebody hurts you, and you try to understand their situation instead of trying to hurt them back. A lesson I learned from my fiancée as she stared at my wasted face through a plate glass window. She wouldn’t let me give up. Even when I’d hit rock bottom, she helped me wade through the darkness until I was finally able to emerge into the light. That’s what love is. It protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. Love never fails.

But I’m so tired of being mad at you. I’ve held onto the anger for far too long until it devoured everything I liked about myself. It poisoned me. Made me think I was nothing but a useless waste of life that doesn’t belong here. It’s all bullshit. I let you get inside my head. But you know what? I no longer need to make you proud because for the first time in my life, I can honestly say that I make myself proud. I turned out great, with no help from you. Yeah, I made bad choices, but I’ve also made good ones, and right now, I choose to be happy with no regrets from my past weighing me down. I have people who love me. I don’t need you. So I forgive you. I don’t like you. I don’t have to like you, but I need the hate to end. I can’t continue blaming you for the mistakes of my past. My life isn’t your responsibility. I take responsibility for myself.

So there ya go. You’re off the hook.

Rest in peace, old man.

* * *

The reflection staring back at me is one I don’t fully recognize. Sure, the nose, the hair, the chin—all those things I’m used to seeing. It’s not in the features; it’s what’s hiding inside. It’s the twinkling gleam in my eyes, the jovial smile fixed on my lips, the trace of pink coloring my cheeks. It’s the way I feel inside bubbling to the surface.

The idiosyncrasies only found on the face of a happy man.

A black tie hangs around my neck. My shirt, crisp and white, is tailored to fit my slim frame. The only thing I’m missing now is my bride. We’ve cast aside the old traditions, choosing to forego silly superstitions about bad luck. We’re better together than we ever were apart. Besides, the wounds on Kat’s heart haven’t fully healed. The idea of another morning where she wakes up alone is something I’m not willing to put her through again. Not now, not ever.

In a few hours, she’ll be my wife. For real this time.

“Kat! Are you almost ready?”

“I can’t come out!” The strain in her voice makes my heart seize. We’ve come this far, too close for another round of doubts implanting themselves inside her fragile mind.

“What’s the matter?”

“I look disgusting! I can’t walk down the aisle in this dress. I look like a snow beast!”

Resting my head against the door, I finger the grain of the painted wood, my hands bright and bold against the stark white surface. “Baby, c’mon. It can’t be that bad.”

“I’m huge,” she whimpers. “I wanted to be beautiful for you.”

A shadow passes under the door. I feel her pressed against it as I am. “You are. Even when your hair’s a mess, and you’re wearing my sweats with no makeup and dog hair all over you. It doesn’t matter. You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world. The one I want to wake up to every morning and fall asleep with every night.”

She lets out a gurgling sort of snorting laughter. “Why are you so obsessed with me?” she jokes, the sound of her smile riding on her voice.

“What can I say? I’m a masochist. Now come out, and say ‘I do,’ woman!”

I stand back, listening to the clicking of the lock as she slowly starts to open the door. “I see someone’s taken that love, honor, and obey crap to heart,” she quips, but I’m too stunned to devise a witty retort.

“Whoa.”

My mouth falls agape, my eyes wide as she steps fully into view. A deep V splits her chest down to the high waist cinched above her belly. On the left, a cluster of flowers undulates over her shoulder and down her breast, the material kissing her body and floating around her feet. A golden band of laurels rests inside her raven hair. A Greek goddess, glowing and gorgeous. The picture of utter perfection, and I’m completely blown away.

“Is it that bad?”

“You’re stunning.”

With her thumb and forefinger, she gently grasps the airy fabric and twirls around. Spindly branches reach across her exposed back, the gnarled bark etched into her golden skin with exquisite detail. A dark-rimmed eye peeks over her shoulder. “It’s not too late to change your mind.” Thick black lashes flap like bat wings.

I shake my head, my lips twisting in a smirk. “It’s not too late to bend you over this dresser either.”

“Ooh, keep threatening,” she jokes, but the grin falls off her face, replaced by a sudden grimace as she cries out, clutching the wall behind her.

“Jesus, baby. You okay?”

“Oh my God,” she whispers on a heavy breath, bracing an arm under her stomach. “Yeah. I think so. More Braxton Hicks. Fuckin’ A, that one hurt.”

“You want some water or something?” I couldn’t have made a more perfect statement if I’d planned it. As the question tumbles from my lips, a shrieking gasp flies from hers.

She jumps back, a puddle forming between her ballet slippers, one arm draped above her belly, the other cradling it from below. “What’s happening, Chase? I have four weeks left!”

“Looks like he’s ready right now.”

“No, no, no!” she wails, her black eyes wide and manic. Her knees buckle under her weight as I run to her side. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

“Kat, look at me.” I cup her face in my tatted hand. “There are no rules. Our lives are messy and unpredictable, and that’s okay. As long as we have each other, everything else will fall into place.” She nods, sucking in a stuttering breath. “I’m going to call the doctor. You sit tight, okay?”

“Chase,” she blurts as I head for the door. “Call Father Eliades. Lainie and Nikos, too. I’m not planning a third wedding. This is happening today.”