I was excited about having a storybook wedding with my fiancé. But when my mother stormed into the ceremony and yelled, “STOP THE WEDDING…,” my entire world came to an abrupt halt. YOUR BIOLOGICAL FATHER IS HIM! Her realization left me speechless and tore me apart.
On my bright wedding day in New York, I was a ball of nervousness and excitement. It was nearly time to start, and my mom was running late, having traveled from Paris. At the altar stood my soon-to-be husband, Zack. I made an effort to maintain my optimism, but the absence of my mother was stealing my joy.
Then, out of nowhere, the ceremony was interrupted by a scream.
“April, please halt the wedding!”
It was my mother, Heidi, seeming tired and anxious. She stormed in and gave Zack a dagger look.
Everyone was confused as she yelled, “CHRISTIAN?”
“Christian? Mom, who’s that? I said, utterly perplexed, “This is Zack.”
Mom was furious. “Don’t try to fool me, Christian. You don’t belong here, certainly not under a false identity.
I was beginning to feel afraid. “Mum, what’s happening? Do you know Zack?
Her next statement struck me as a stone. “I arrived just in time, but I hardly made my flight. He’s not Zack, April. Her voice cracking, she replied, “He’s Christian, YOUR REAL DAD.”
It was as though the earth had engulfed me. All went dark. I was shocked to see a room full of anxious faces as I opened my eyes. “He’s my dad, right?” I wept, unwilling to accept the truth.
Mom nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “My apologies, honey. He’s your father, the man you were going to marry. He’s been here the entire time, even though we assumed he was gone.
Mom took a big breath and began to share with me her past: It all started off…
Twenty years ago, when I was working at an art gallery in Chicago, I got to know Christian. We both like art, and he was quite nice. When we first started dating, everything seemed idyllic and fantastical. But after that, he simply vanished, taking with him a priceless Renaissance picture and my savings.
That day, when I arrived home, everything was in mess. Both he and the picture had vanished. He was unaware that the painting he had taken was a fake and that the original was secure.
I tried to explain my predicament to the police station, but they stated it would be difficult to apprehend Christian without his photo.
I never owned a picture. I trusted him when he said he wanted our relationship to remain quiet.
Someone called a sketch artist. After I described Christian, drawings of him quickly spread across the community. It was a modest but constructive move.
I went to the station many times. But every visit brought defeat.
My resolve increased as the days stretched into weeks without hearing from Christian. I told myself over and over again that I would locate him, no matter what.
I even went to his favorite bar and waited for him to come in for hours. But then I saw that the greatest way to capture him was if his passion of art turned out to be his demise.
In the hopes of luring him out, I made the decision to lay a trap using the genuine masterpiece. I was willing to give it my all, reservations notwithstanding.
My heart was pounding during the auction. I mingled with the sophisticated crowd while I waited for Christian. Presuming to be simply another wealthy bidder, he was there. I knew I had laid my trap as he lifted his paddle for the painting.
As soon as he won the bidding, a police officer in disguise doused him with water. It was then that I noticed the scar on his neck. I only needed one indication to know it was him. Christian was surrounded by police as he went to pay. They said, “Christian, you’re under arrest!”
Relief washed over me. We were finally going to get him; my strategy had finally paid off.
Christian dropped his suitcase, though, and it burst open, revealing nothing within. The police said, “Don’t move!” However, Christian only grinned and took something out of his pocket. Tear gas suddenly filled the area, and Christian managed to sneak out with the picture in the confusion.
Once more, he got away. It seemed unbelievable to me.
Despite being featured on several wanted posters, his face was never located.
I felt the backlash then. People believed that Christian and I were involved. It was my responsibility to lose. “My goal was to apprehend him, not to assist him!” I made an effort to clarify, but it felt pointless. To top it all off, I discovered I was expecting.
I chose to leave the chaos behind and start fresh in Paris. It was only me and the developing life within me, attempting to locate some
With sad eyes, I tightly gripped Mom’s hand. “Mom, what happened to you is so unfair.”
She sounded optimistic yet dejected. “My love for you, April, keeps me going even after everything with Christian.”
A twinge of shame pricked me. How could I have overlooked this so much? It everything came back, including the age gap I’d dismissed, Zack’s insistence on keeping our relationship quiet, and the little discomfort I’d occasionally experienced. My joyful wedding day abruptly came to an end.
I blinked back tears as I glanced at Mom.
“I didn’t know he was yours,” He identified as Christian. Sweetheart, I had to call off the wedding,” she remarked.
Not one person at the wedding believed it. This enormous secret caused the entire thing to come to an end.
Christian then attempted to flee. However, he didn’t have to go far before others began to pursue him.
Mom called 911 and looked worried. With a trembling voice, she stated, “There has been a crime.”
Everything that transpired left me feeling so exhausted.
I just tried to feel a little better by hugging Mom. I was glad to see Christian being taken away by the cops.
We were in the police station later that day. Mom, however, was composed and her voice remained unwavering as she informed the police of all the ruses Christian had done. He was well-prepared from the beginning. He stole the old picture from the art cons.
Penciling over the notes he was taking, the detective nodded. “And you’re saying that he has been holding onto the original Renaissance painting for all this time?”
One of the interrogation room officers said, “Yes.” “He has acknowledged. The thief planned to use a black market auction to sell the picture. He had been hanging onto it for years, anticipating the ideal opportunity.
Upon searching Christian’s residence, they discovered a plethora of pilfered artwork. It appears that he had more victims besides Mom and myself. In all of this chaos, recovering the picture seemed like a minor triumph.
Mom shot a direct, pointed glance at Christian before we departed. “Christian, you’ve caused a great deal of harm,” she remarked. “But justice triumphs in the end.”
It seemed as though a weight had been lifted as I left, painting in hand. Now that this painful chapter was finally over, we could begin the process of gradually mending things.
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