Emily paused.
“You were still paying things?”
“Catering overtime.”
“On the wedding day?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
“Why didn’t Melissa handle it?”
“She tried.”
“Mom.”
“I know.”
Control.
Again.
We continued.
The video did not show the slap.
The photographer and videographer had been outside preparing for the processional.
Good.
Then ceremony footage.
My empty chair.
Emily cried.
I did too.
At one point Daniel looked toward the chair just before vows.
I had not known.
Emily whispered:
“He asked if we should wait.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
I looked at her.
“Do you regret that?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“No.”
She wiped her face.
“I regret why you were gone.”
“I don’t regret marrying him when we did.”
Good answer.
We kept watching.
Vows.
Kiss.
Reception.
Rebecca absent after the confrontation.
Two empty parent seats by dinner.
Different consequences.
Then first dance.
Emily smiled.
“My dress looked good.”
“It was overpriced.”
She stared.
I laughed.
“Sorry.”
She laughed too.
Normal.
At the end of the video, there was a montage of family photographs.
Michael.
His picture placed on a small memorial table at the reception.
I had not seen it in person.
The videographer zoomed slowly across the frame.
Emily reached for my hand.
“I wish he’d been there.”
“Me too.”
Then she looked at me.
“But I’m glad you are.”
That sentence repaired something the apology never could.
Not because I needed to beat a dead man in a contest.
Because for years after Michael died, I feared Emily’s love for him was purer because he had never lived long enough to become difficult in her adulthood.
He remained the father who would have understood.
The father who would have trusted her.
The father who would not have argued about guest lists.
Dead parents acquire unfair advantages.
Living ones have opinions.
I finally stopped competing.
At seven years, Daniel and Emily went through a difficult period.
Work.
Money.
A second child.
Exhaustion.
They considered counseling.
Emily called me.
I listened.
Then she asked:
“What should I do?”
I said:
“Do you want my opinion or do you want me to listen?”
Silence.
Then she laughed.
“Who are you?”
“Expensive therapy.”
She chose opinion.
I gave it.
Once.
No follow-up campaign.
They went to counseling.
Stayed married.
Good.