We ran it like a mission. Hannah handled music. Grace and Lily found dresses. Nora coordinated with the church. Paige kept the secret. Sophie stayed close to Thomas, keeping him laughing.
Emily adjusted the wedding around his strength—shorter aisle, more chairs, a side room for breaks.
The week of the wedding, Thomas grew weaker. One morning, shaking on the bathroom floor, he whispered, “Maybe I can’t do it. I don’t want Emily to remember me like this.”
I grabbed his face. “You will. She’ll remember you showing up.” He nodded once. “One step.”
Wedding morning, Thomas looked like a shadow of himself in a suit. He whispered, “Help me.” “Always,” I said.
At the church, Emily waited in white. Jake stood nervous at the altar. Carol, the coordinator, whispered, “We’re on your timing.”
Emily knelt in front of Thomas. “Dad, you okay?” “Ready,” he lied.
The doors opened. Music started. Emily took his arm. They stepped into the aisle. Guests turned. Phones rose. Step. Step. Halfway down—the music stopped.
Thomas froze. His face wasn’t pain. It was shock.
Six daughters stood ahead. Grace in lace. Lily in vintage ivory. Hannah in sleek satin. Nora in borrowed bravery. Paige in soft tulle. Sophie in curls and a smaller dress.
Gasps rolled through the church. Someone sobbed.
