He had managed to find a decent navy suit for the occasion. His tie was slightly crooked, and Sarah had reached over to straighten it just before the ceremony. “Dad, you okay? You look a little pale,” she whispered. “I’m fine, honey. Everything’s going to be just fine,” he replied.
He said it with a strange weight in his voice, as if he knew something no one else did. The toasts went on for what felt like hours. Richard, the groom’s father, stood up twice to talk about “legacy,” “building an empire,” and how his son had chosen a “sensible” girl—though the way he said “sensible” sounded a lot like “cheap.”
Eleanor then made a grand show of presenting the couple with the keys to a luxury condo downtown—one of their investment properties. The room erupted in applause. Linda followed up by handing over a thick envelope that everyone knew contained a check for at least fifty thousand dollars. “And now, a gift from the father of the bride!” the DJ announced, his voice carrying a slight edge of pity.
Bill stood up slowly. In his hand, he held a plain white business envelope. No ribbon, no card, just a standard piece of stationery. Eleanor traded a smirk with Linda, and Richard leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, waiting for the modest display of “working-class effort.”
Bill walked over to his daughter, handed her the envelope, and said quietly but clearly: “This is for you, Sarah. Read it yourself.”
Sarah took the paper, a confused smile on her face. She was used to defending her father from the subtle jabs of Andrew’s family. She just wanted the moment to pass quickly so they could get to the cake. She slid her finger under the flap and pulled out the document.
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