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 nerves and excitement. It was almost time to start, and my mom was running late, having traveled all the way 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 loud scream. “April, please halt the wedding!” It was my mother, Heidi, seeming really 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.”mMom 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 brick. “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 worried faces when 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 enjoyed 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 painting 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 placed too much faith in him, and he wanted our relationship to remain confidential. I had the impression that walls were closing in around me. I pleaded with the police to take more action, but I didn’t think they could accomplish much.
Someone called a sketch artist. After I gave a description of Christian, drawings of him quickly spread across the community. It was a modest but constructive move.
I went to the station multiple 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 find him, no matter what.
I even went to his favorite bar and waited for him to come in for hours. But then I understood that the greatest way to catch 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 set a trap using the genuine masterpiece. I was willing to give it my all, reservations notwithstanding.
My heart was pounding at 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 raised 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 that indication to know it was him. Christian was surrounded by police as he went to pay. “Christian, you’re under arrest!” they announced.
Relief washed over me. We were finally going to get him; my plan had finally paid off.
Christian dropped his suitcase, though, and it burst open, revealing nothing inside. The police said, “Don’t move!” However, Christian merely grinned and took something out of his pocket. Tear gas suddenly filled the area, and Christian managed to sneak out with the painting amidst the confusion.
Once more, he got away. It was unbelievable to me.
Despite being featured on numerous 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 over in Paris. It was just me, trying to find some serenity, and the new life that was growing inside of me.
With sad eyes, I tightly gripped Mom’s hand. “Mom, what happened to you is so unfair.”
She sounded hopeful but 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 all came back, including the age gap I’d dismissed, Zack’s insistence on keeping our relationship quiet, and the mild 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 people began to pursue him.
Mom looked terribly terrified and dialed 911. 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 giving Mom a hug. I was relieved 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 pulled. He was well-prepared from the beginning. He did it all—the art frauds, pilfering that antique painting.
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 added, “Yes.” “He has acknowledged. The thief planned to use a black market auction to sell the picture. He had been holding 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 me. In all of this chaos, recovering the picture felt like a minor triumph.
Mom shot a direct, pointed look 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 ended, we could begin the process of gradually mending things.
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