I raised my stepdaughter for ten years.
I paid for her education, bought her a car, and now, I’m paying for her wedding.
Yesterday, we were having dinner with the future in-laws and a surprise guest, her absent “Real Dad,” when my kid announced that he was going to give her away.
I’ve never felt so disrespected. So I got up and got my revenge during the toast. “It has been my great pleasure to be a part of your life,” I began, raising my glass, voice steady despite the fire in my chest. “To see you grow from a scared little girl into a strong, beautiful woman. I was there for the scraped knees, the tears after breakups, and every triumph along the way.”
The room grew still. My stepdaughter’s smile faltered.
“I paid for your braces, your piano lessons, your college degree. I taught you how to drive, helped you buy your first car, and stood by you every time life tried to knock you down.” My gaze swept over the table, stopping on the man she introduced as “Dad.” “And I never once asked for anything in return. Not even recognition.”
Someone shifted in their chair, awkward.
“But tonight, I learned that biology outweighs loyalty. That presence means less than blood. And so, I will honor your decision.”
I turned to face the groom and his parents. “I hope you’ll welcome her real father with open arms. He seems to know when to appear for photo ops.”
Then I placed the envelope containing a $10,000 check for the wedding on the table.
“This was my final gift,” I said softly, “but I’ve decided to save it for someone who remembers who stood beside them when it mattered.”
I walked out. And for the first time in ten years, I let her go—for real.