“Promise you’ll always come back for me, Dad,” Lily murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her plea was like a dagger to my heart, twisting deeper with every tear that spilled from her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling the weight of her tiny frame trembling against me.
The church was filled with the soft rustling of guests shifting in their seats, an orchestra of anticipation and murmurs. My bride, Claire, stood at the altar, a vision in white, her face a blend of apprehension and nervous joy. I could feel her eyes on us, concerned and hopeful, yet I was anchored in this moment with Lily, desperate to reassure her fragile heart.
