I met Daniel by chance in a coffee shop when he dropped his cards. I helped him pick them up, and that simple act started something special. Daniel was kind and steady, a welcome change from my past relationships. On our third date, he told me about his son Evan, who was polite but distant. When I offered help with homework, Evan said, “You’re not my mom.” I replied, “I’m not trying to be,” and kept trying to build trust.
Daniel proposed, and I said yes. Evan’s congratulations felt forced. On our wedding day, Evan pulled me aside and warned, “Don’t marry my dad.” He gave me an envelope revealing Daniel’s plan to marry me for my money and then divorce me.
Evan had overheard a phone call and gathered proof. He admitted he kept his distance to protect me. I was grateful for his honesty. I had a prenup drawn up, but Daniel refused to sign and called Evan a traitor. I ended the wedding and left with Evan.
He asked if I hated him; I told him I loved him for saving me. Months later, Evan sent a letter from his aunt’s home, doing well. I keep his letter and the canceled wedding papers as reminders of the bravery that saved me.
