I lost her 13 years ago. My wife left and took our daughter, Harriet, calling me a failure because I’d just lost my job. My life fell apart—I lost everything, my home, my dignity, and I couch surfed for years.
I learned the hard way that grief is a kind of disease for which no cure can be found. On the days when life and its living proves harder than usual, I felt Harriet’s absence all the more. Every morning for over a decade, I’d check the mailbox, hoping for anything from Harriet, but it stayed empty.
Then yesterday, I opened my rusty mailbox. There was an envelope. It was an invitation to a wedding at a resort, with a note from Harriet asking me to come.
I booked a flight immediately. I was anxious, and the atmosphere on the plane didn’t help. There was a man two rows ahead of me in business class who was UNBEARABLE. He yelled at a mom with a crying baby and threw sauce at the flight attendant, leaving her in tears. It was only when a 14-year-old boy stood up to him that he sat down, quiet and humiliated. Watching that boy gave me courage.
When I arrived at the resort, I ran into an old friend, Phil. She was frantic, on the phone, whispering, “I need your help — Ryan and I are throwing a tiny engagement party. It’s a surprise, don’t tell a soul!”. I told her I couldn’t help with the pink and gold balloons or fairy lights this time; I was on a mission.
I walked toward the wedding venue and saw a woman sobbing on a bench. She told me her story: “Since my son moved out, we’ve drifted apart, so I decided to surprise him one weekend.”. She had arrived at his house and found a poster congratulating him and an unknown girl on their wedding. When she tried to enter, her son came out, denied knowing [her], and instructed security to remove [her]. He even had his fiancée point out another woman, claiming she was the future mother-in-law.
I asked her the fiancée’s name.
“Jenna,” she said.
My blood ran cold. I knew a Jenna. After my divorce, I had dated her. I was 49 and vulnerable. When I took Jenna to meet the family, they looked at her like they’d seen a ghost. My brother had yelled, ‘YOU IDIOT!’. She was a predator who targeted people with inheritances. I remembered how she had divided my inheritance into categories: “Car, investments, vacation” without my name on a single line.
“She’s marrying your son for his money,” I told the woman. “And my daughter might be at that same wedding.”
We rushed to the ballroom together. I spotted the wedding planner, Annabelle, who nearly dropped her clipboard when she saw the chaos. Someone screamed, “JEN NEEDS HER SECOND DRESS!”.
I pushed past Annabelle rushing into the ballroom.
There was Jenna, about to marry the woman’s son. And standing there as a bridesmaid was my daughter, Harriet. Jenna had befriended her to get to me years ago and had now moved on to this young man.
We stopped the wedding. We exposed Jenna’s past—how she didn’t want a partner, she wanted a provider. The groom, realizing he had been brainwashed—just like the groom who was told to cut [his friend] off in another wedding Jenna ruined—called it off immediately.
That night, reunited with Harriet, I realized something. Just like the story of the baby whose life was saved because a stranger commented, “That’s not a tan. That is severe jaundice. Get to the ER now,” we had been saved by stepping in. Social media isn’t just a highlight reel. Sometimes, it’s a modern-day village looking out for us.
I held Harriet close, feeling the hole in my chest finally close. I whispered the words I had held onto for thirteen years: “In memory and dream I am returned to you, returned home.”. In the memory of my heart, our forever continues..
