Cassandra sat in her peaceful apartment, the sunset streaking the wooden floor gold. She gripped the phone with trembling hands, her thumb hanging over the call button for too long. It had been months since she talked to her father, Robert. Last chat ended in hushed quiet.
She breathed deeply and pressed the button, holding the phone to her ear.
Cassandra remembered her youth as it rung. Robert was her world then. He protected her, told goodnight stories, and twirled her around the kitchen until they were dizzy with laughter. He still said, “You’re my little star,” before kissing her goodbye.
When she was 10, her warmth vanished. Robert left Cassandra and her mother, Linda, to start a new life with his new wife and her two kids after falling in love.
Linda tried everything to keep their little family together. Juggling jobs, she attended every recital, report card, and grief despite long hours. As she looked through the glass, Cassandra kept asking, “When’s Dad coming?”
Sometimes he arrived. But the visits were brief, with hollow conversation and lengthy silences. The link faded like an old snapshot.
She witnessed Robert become a full-time parent to his stepchildren years later. Family trips. Backyard BBQs. Cheerful celebrations without her.
Robert said he couldn’t afford college when she requested for assistance. However, his Facebook was full of photos of his stepdaughter’s Paris private school graduation and Aspen ski excursions.
Linda hugged her daughter after graduation. “You did it alone, Cass. Am extremely proud.”
Scholars, late-night shifts, and fierce resolve powered Cassandra onstage. And she determined never to need Robert again.
But now, years later, she called him before her wedding.
“Hello?” said the familiar, faraway voice.
It’s Cassandra, Dad.”
A break. “Cass. What’s up?”
She swallowed pride. Getting married. “I was hoping you could walk me down the aisle.”
Long, deep quiet. Finally, Robert spoke.
“I can’t do that. My stepdaughter Natalie has requested me to do that when she marries next year. Our particular occasion was decided upon.”
Cassandra muttered, “But I’m your daughter,” cracking.
I’m sorry. I cannot deviate.”
The line ended. And so went her final chance for a true relationship.
That night, she sat across from her closest friend Mia in a dimly lit café.
“That man doesn’t deserve to call himself your father,” Mia said. “You can’t let him ruin your day.”
“What should I do? The complete John family will attend. I promised them my dad would lead me down the aisle. I’m ashamed.”
Her eyes sparkled. “What if you hired someone?”
Cassandra blinked. “Hired someone?”
“Why not? Need someone reliable, nice. You need love, not DNA.”
It was wild. It was ludicrous. But something clicked.
Mia found her an emotional support acting agency in days. Cassandra met Henry, a mid-50s guy with a lovely grin and soothing aura.
“Hello, Cassandra. Hello, nice to meet you.” He shook her hand confidently and kindly.
Meet over coffee. She shared her experience, grief, and dream.
“I want someone who’ll make me feel safe,” she remarked, emotional.
Henry nods. “I promise you—I’ll be whatever you need me to be that day.”
They began rehearsals with walks and handholds, then exchanged anecdotes and emotional admissions. They discussed childhood parks, favorite tunes, and family feasts.
“My dad used to take me for vanilla cones every Sunday,” Cassandra tearfully sobbed.
“My daughter and I loved mint chip,” Henry laughed. All from one truck.”
Like ivy on a garden wall, their relationship blossomed spontaneously.
Stained windows let sunshine illuminate the wedding day. In her gown, Cassandra stood at the modest chapel’s entryway, heart racing.
Henry stood gorgeous in a blue suit alongside her. He said, “You’ve got this, kiddo.”
Despite tears, she grinned. “Thank you. For being here.”
They entered as the doors opened and music grew. With each stride, her former agony faded. Henry was not a prop. He was there. Steady. Proud.
Every minute of the ceremony was sincere and amazing. Henry presented Cassandra’s hand to John with a kind nod, bringing tears to guests.
Cassandra saw Linda and Henry laughing at the cake table during the reception. Something about their laughing stopped her.
Henry subsequently joined Cassandra on the balcony, saying, “Your mother is remarkable.” Both of you are special.”
Henry and Linda started going on coffee dates, walks, and lengthy meals as the weeks evolved into months. Henry proposed to Linda with a gold ring one evening at Cassandra and John’s.
Yes, she replied without hesitation.
Cassandra joyfully accompanied Henry down the aisle during the wedding.
Henry said, “You gave me more than you know,” before the altar.
“You gave me what I’d been missing,” Cassandra said, emotional.
Cassandra realized something significant as Henry and Linda exchanged vows: love didn’t require blood. It discovered you via heart fissures and made you whole.
Her father’s absence stung. But his absence let someone better enter.
She knew this time she was where she was supposed to be.