and I remember thinking, we did it. But just as the father-daughter dance was about to begin, a voice echoed through the gym.
A girl — young, poised, and unmistakably angry — took the mic. She looked straight at Richard and said, “So, Daddy… ready for our dance too?” The room fell dead silent. Lana stood there, trembling, as the girl told a story of being abandoned — a daughter he never acknowledged, until now.
Richard stammered excuses, calling it a long-forgotten mistake. But to Lana and me, it was a deep betrayal. That night, I asked him to leave, and I filed for divorce days later. Lana stayed quiet for a while, but eventually found peace. As for that girl — she didn’t steal the moment. She reclaimed her voice. And in doing so, she gave us both the courage to start over, stronger and wiser.
