My name is Isabel. I’m 19 years old, and last month I watched my father grab a microphone at my wedding and become the hero of a story he had absolutely no part in.
My fiancé, Scott, and I had been together since my diagnosis. He was my best friend, and after everything we survived together, waiting felt unnecessary when he proposed last year.
He hadn’t paid a cent.
The venue was small and simple. Every centerpiece, every string light, and every plate of food had been paid for by my mother.
t to anyone.
But I never forgot.
I survived, slowly and painfully, with my mother’s hand in mine through every step of it.
The hair came back. So did the energy.
But I never forgot.
My father commented once on a Facebook post during my recovery:
“Stay strong, champ.”
That was it. No calls. No visits. No help.
Just three words from a man who’d moved on to a new life and couldn’t be bothered to remember he already had one.
Two years later, I graduated from high school with a 3.8 GPA because my mother tutored me through every class I missed during treatment.
That was it. No calls. No visits. No help.
Dad didn’t come to my graduation either. Said he had a prior commitment.
I found out later the commitment was a golf weekend in another state.
I filed that away too. The man who was supposed to be my hero turned himself into a cameo.
Back to the wedding.
After my father finished his speech, guests crowded around him, shaking his hand and praising him like he’d just performed a miracle.
One woman put her hand on his arm and said, “You must’ve been so scared.”
Dad didn’t come to my graduation either.
“Terrified,” Dad bragged. “But you do what you have to do for your kids.”
A guest approached Mom and said, “You must be so proud of Todd.”
She pressed her lips together, as if she were made of stone.
I caught her eye from across the room. She gave me the smallest nod.
She knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t let it go. She also knew me well enough to trust whatever came next.
“You do what you have to do for your kids.”
After the honeymoon, I called the videographer.
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