**Diary Entry 14th June**
When my fiancée and I started planning our wedding, I assumed the biggest hurdles would be choosing between beef or salmon for the main course or debating the merits of a church versus a country manor. Never in a million years did I think the real issue would involve the person who mattered mostmy daughter.
At 45, I wasnt some wide-eyed romantic. Id been married before, weathered a brutal divorce, and come out the other side with the one bright spot in my life: my 11-year-old daughter, Poppy. Clever, quick-witted, and tougher than half the blokes I knew, shed handled the divorce with a strength that humbled me. I swore then shed never take second place to anyone.
Then I met Helen. Thirty-nine, kind-hearted, and for four years, shed seemed genuinely fond of Poppy. Wed spent weekends baking, binge-watching telly, and laughing until our sides ached. Proposing felt like the right move. She said yes with tears in her eyes, and for a while, I truly believed we had it all.
Helen threw herself into wedding plans like it was a royal affair. Venues, florists, table settingsshe obsessed over every detail, sometimes more concerned with how it looked in photos than what it meant. Still, if it made her happy, I didnt mind.
Then came the night that changed everything.
We were sprawled on the sofa, surrounded by fabric samples, when Helen announced, I want my cousins little girl to be the flower girl. Shell look adorable.
Brilliant, I said. Poppy would love to do it too.
Helens smile vanished. Poppy doesnt suit the role, she said bluntly.
I frowned. What? Shes my daughter. Of course shes part of the wedding.
Helen folded her arms. The wedding party is my decision, and Poppy isnt going to be in it.
Her words hit me like a lorry. If Poppys not in the wedding, I said, my voice low, then there isnt going to be a wedding.
That night, I took Poppy out for ice cream. Swinging her legs in the booth, she murmured, I bet Id look nice in whatever dress Helen picks. My chest ached.
Later, Helens mother texted: *Youre being ridiculous. Your daughter doesnt belong in your wedding.* Thats when I realised the trutheverything between Helen and me had been a lie.
The next morning, Helen admitted it. Shed hoped after the wedding, Id become a weekends-and-holidays dad. She didnt want Poppy in the photos because it would look odd when she wasnt around anymore.
You expected me to give her up? I demanded. Poppy comes first. Always. You knew that.
Helen cried, insisting she thought Id ease off once we were married. I slid the ring off her finger and set it on the table. I wont marry someone who sees my daughter as expendable.
Her mother turned up later, fuming. Youre throwing everything away for a child wholl leave you one day! she sneered. I shut the door in her face.
That evening, Poppy sat at the kitchen table, colouring. She held up a drawing of us beneath a big red heart. My throat tightened. There wont be a wedding anymore, I told her softly.
Because of me? she asked.
Never, I said. Its off because Helen didnt understand how much you mean to me. If someone cant love us both, they dont deserve either of us.
Poppy was quiet, then whispered, So its just us again?
Just us. Always.
A small smile tugged at her lips. I like that better.
I grinned. Good. Because that honeymoon we booked in Cornwall? Its ours now. Just you, me, the beach, and all the ice cream you can stomach.
Her squeal of delight filled the room. Best honeymoon ever!
I pulled her close, knowing Id lost a fiancée but kept something far more preciousmy daughters trust. Some loves come with conditions. But a parents love doesnt.
And as Poppy whispered, Its you and me forever, yeah? I kissed the top of her head and said, Forever, Poppy. Forever. The sun dipped low over the cliffs the next evening, painting the sky in streaks of gold and pink. Poppy danced ahead on the coastal path, her laughter carried off by the sea breeze. I watched her for a moment, hands in my pockets, heart full. This was the life Id chosen. Not the one in perfectly framed wedding photos, but the messy, bright, true onesand in our shoes, salt on our skin, and a love that needed no approval. And when she turned back and grinned, calling for me to catch up, I didrunning like I had all the time in the world.
