As my ex-husband Leo suddenly asked to spend the weekend with our five-year-old daughter, Lily, I hesitated.
After many years of missed birthdays and empty promises, he was rarely more than a name on the edge of her memory.
However, this time, he sounded different—soft-spoken, sincere.
He said that he missed her, that he wanted to make up for lost time.
I was cautious, yet Lily deserved a chance to be loved by her father.
Therefore, I agreed, hoping this would be the beginning of something better.
The weekend started well.
Leo sent photos of Lily grinning on a carousel, ice cream smeared on her cheeks, arms outstretched at the park.
It almost convinced me.
But on Sunday, everything collapsed.
My sister called, her voice sharp with disbelief. “Did you know Leo got married this weekend?” she asked. I froze. “Check his Instagram.”
And there it was: Leo in a tux, a woman in a white dress, and Lily—our daughter—standing between them in a flower girl dress.
Not a word of warning. Not a request. Just betrayal, neatly filtered and hashtagged.
I drove to the wedding venue, heart pounding, hands shaking.
That’s when Leo’s bride approached, smile frozen, asking if Lily could stay some more minutes for “just one last family photo.”
However, before I could speak, a bridesmaid—her friend—stepped in, her voice edged with disgust.
“This was all for show. They planned to use Lily for the wedding photos to make it look like some fairytale blended family. She didn’t even know her name last week.”
Sh0cked guests watched as I scooped Lily into my arms and walked out without another word.
I wasn’t there to argue.
I was there to protect my daughter. By the next morning, their posts were gone.
So were many of their friends’ likes and follows.
But I didn’t care about Leo’s social media image.
I cared about my daughter’s heart—her trust, her safety.
Leo used Lily to decorate his wedding album, but it exposed exactly who he still is.
And unless he learns what fatherhood truly means, this will be the last time he gets anywhere near her.
