Three years after Leo walked out on us to be with another woman, my daughter Lily still asked about him. Her tiny voice would break my heart: “Does Daddy not love me anymore?” I worked double shifts as a nurse, trying to fill the void he left. But no bedtime story or birthday cake could replace a father’s love.
Then one Friday morning, Leo called. “I’ve been ashamed,” he said. “I want to reconnect with Lily.” I hesitated, but Lily’s quiet sadness pushed me to say yes. Maybe he’d finally realized what he’d lost.
He picked her up for the weekend. Sent photos of her laughing at the park, clapping at a puppet show. I let myself believe he’d changed.
Until Sunday.
My sister called, furious. “Have you seen Instagram?” she asked. I hadn’t. She sent a photo: Leo and his girlfriend Rachel—now his bride—smiling in wedding attire. And between them, dressed as a flower girl, was Lily. My daughter. Used as a prop in their perfect wedding fantasy.
I was livid. He hadn’t told me. Hadn’t asked. He’d lied to me and exploited Lily’s longing for her father to stage a picture-perfect moment.
I drove straight to the venue. Found Lily sitting alone, clutching her teddy bear. “Mommy, can we go home now?” she whispered.
Rachel tried to stop me. “We didn’t get the family photo yet,” she said. I looked her dead in the eye. “She’s not your flower girl. She’s a child. And you used her.”
One of Rachel’s bridesmaids stepped forward, disgusted. “She planned this,” she said. “Told us she’d ‘borrow his kid’ for the photos.”
I took Lily home. Held her close. And promised her that no matter what, I’d never let anyone use her again.
