Bride Doesn’t Want Her Dad in Wheelchair to Walk Her Down the Aisle until She Sees Him on TV — Story of the Day
A woman doesn’t want her father to walk her down the aisle because she is embarrassed by his wheelchair. However, when she sees him on TV a few days before the wedding, she regrets her decision and changes her mind.
When Lisa Terrell’s mother died when she was just two years old, her father, Edward, took up her care. Caroline Terrell had died in a terrible hurricane that hit their town years ago, demolishing their home and leaving Edward in a wheelchair due to a severe injury.
Nonetheless, nothing could stop Edward from raising Lisa with love and giving her the finest of everything. He was a well-known journalist and began working remotely following his injury to provide for them.
However, most people in Lisa’s life were unaware she had a father until he paid her a surprise visit at her school one day.
Lisa had always told her friends that her father was too busy to spend time with her, which is why he never attended school functions or parent meetings. However, the reality was that the invitations never made it to Edward since Lisa was embarrassed by him and didn’t want her friends to see him.
She adored him as a youngster, but as she grew up, the image of her father in a wheelchair mortified her and wrecked her relationship with him.
She was confused as she looked at the television and noticed her father sitting alongside the host.
Still, Edward never reneged on his duties. He was always there for his daughter and saved enough money to send her to a top university.
On the other hand, Lisa did not want him by his side. In fact, when she met her boyfriend, Harrison, at university, and they decided to marry after graduation, she didn’t want Edward to be there for the wedding.
As a result, she freaked out when Harrison asked her to invite Edward to dinner at his parents’ place. His parents were wealthy and of the upper crust. What would they think if they saw an elderly man in their home in a wheelchair? Lisa was ashamed by the very thought of it.
However, based on Harrison’s enthusiasm in inviting Edward to dinner, Lisa realized she didn’t have an out this time. So she had to fake a grin and say she’d ask Edward if he was free.
When Lisa told Edward about the invitation to dinner, he was more than just free. He was overjoyed for Lisa for finding someone who adored her.
On the night of the dinner, he dressed nicely in a suit and Harrison’s family received him warmly. The young man’s parents were impressed that Edward had reared a daughter on his own. Besides, Edward had a wonderful sense of humor, and everyone had a great time at the dinner. Everyone except Lisa, whose cheeks were flushed crimson with shame the entire time since the man in a wheelchair was her father…
A few weeks before the wedding, Lisa made up her mind. She confronted Edward one night over dinner and notified him that he would not be on the wedding guest list.
“Dad, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding,” she began, glancing at her plate and moving her fork around the spaghetti.
“Yes? What exactly is it, honey?” Edward inquired. “Is there something bugging you about the wedding, the expenses? If that’s the case, I have some bonds that we could use. After all, I did keep it for you…”
“No, dad! It’s just that,” Lisa paused for a moment, “Harrison and I intend to hold the wedding here in New York, but the problem is that we’re having it at one of the city’s largest hotels, and… I just thought it would be best if you didn’t attend the event. You know, there would be way too many guests!”
Edward’s smile vanished as he stared at Lisa, speechless. “I – I don’t understand…What’s the problem?”
Lisa sighed and fixed her gaze on him. “Look, Dad, it’s just that… The guests will be exclusive, and they’re all businessmen and high-class people. Imagine a man in a wheelchair walking his daughter down the aisle in front of them… I don’t know…It’s just weird.”
“A man in a wheelchair is weird?” Edward’s eyes welled up. He couldn’t believe Lisa was indirectly cutting him off the wedding guest list. But he grasped the cue and forced a grin, hiding his tears from her.
“Is that it? Oh, you’re right! After all, this old age is catching up with me,” he said, faking a laugh. “I may not be able to handle such a large gathering. It’s ok – it’s ok!”
“Thanks for understanding, dad,” Lisa said bluntly and went away to her room. Before dissing Edward, she didn’t think twice about all the years of love and care he’d given her, but eventually, she regretted it.
A few days later, she was watching a show titled “American Heroes” on TV when the emcee announced Edward’s name. She was confused as she looked at the television and noticed her father sitting alongside the host.
Soon after, the camera focused on a screen that displayed images of Edward in a wheelchair and the hurricane that had hit their town years before. He turned out to be one of the brave journalists who had managed to save his family and help his neighbors throughout the disaster.
Edward had a solemn expression as he narrated the whole story of how he’d managed to help people, especially his family.
“I will never forget that day. It was terrible… we lost practically everything,” he explained. “My wife died in the accident, and my daughter was just two years old at the time. As the debris surrounding us fell, I noticed my daughter standing right there…underneath that spot where it was falling.
“I went to save her and took her into my arms, but as I ran, a large section of the ceiling cracked and crashed on my back, causing a spine injury that prevented me from walking again.”
Lisa’s jaw sank to the floor, and her tears welled up when she heard that. “Dad saved me?” she was shocked.
“It was hard for me,” Edward continued. “But you know, you can’t really avoid your fate. So I gathered courage, knowing I just couldn’t give up in life, especially because I know I had a daughter who was now reliant on her father.”
Lisa was utterly embarrassed about herself at this point. She cried after Edward’s interview, cursing herself for being a terrible daughter, and decided to make it up to him.
So on her wedding day, she did walk down the aisle with Edward, but before the wedding ceremony began, she needed to tell the guests something VERY important…
As she took the microphone near the altar, she approached Edward, who was sitting among the guests, fell on her knees, and hugged him. “I know this is one of the most important days of my life, and I’ve been waiting for it for so long!” she cried, holding his hands in hers. “But none of this would have been possible if my father had not been by my side.”
“Ever since mom passed away, I never saw dad saying even once how hard it was for him to raise me alone. He did have hard days, but he never showed me the slightest hint of it. But what did I do? I was about to remove him from the wedding list because I was embarrassed about him being in a wheelchair. Yes, that’s right!”
“If only I had known that dad is in a wheelchair because he injured his back while saving me, I’d have never ever done that. I have been horrible to the man who loves me the most!”
“So I’d like to apologize to him in front of everyone today. I apologize for being the worst daughter to you, dad,” she said, facing him. “You can hate me for the rest of my life. I am sorry.”
Edward wasn’t expecting Lisa to own her mistake publicly. He was surprised but at the same time overcome with emotions at seeing his daughter realize her error, so he forgave her.
“Oh, come here,” he cried, embracing her. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said. “But if you recognize them and work to fix them, you should be forgiven.”
Everyone was moved to tears and applauded the heartwarming reunion.
My Daughter Said I Could Only Come to Her Graduation If I ‘Dressed Normal’ Because She Was Ashamed of Me
Carmen spent 22 years cleaning houses to put her daughter through college. But when graduation nears, Lena delivers a gutting ultimatum: come, but don’t look like yourself. Carmen’s pride turns to heartbreak — until she makes a bold choice that no one sees coming.
My fingers throbbed as I unlocked my front door. The scent of ammonia clung to my skin like a second uniform, my sturdy sneakers dragging across the floor. Another day without a proper break.
Keys in a front door | Source: Pexels
I’d spent 13 hours on my feet.
The bathrooms at the Westfield Hotel don’t clean themselves, and Mr. Davidson had asked me to stay late again. Three more rooms needed deep cleaning before the conference guests arrived tomorrow.
How could I say no? The overtime would help pay for Lena’s cap and gown when she graduated with her degree in business management.
A woman holding her graduation cap | Source: Pexels
My back ached as I shuffled toward the kitchen, but my eyes caught on the envelope taped to the fridge: Lena’s graduation ceremony program.
My chest warmed. Pride swelled through the exhaustion. My daughter — the first in our family to go to college.
All those years scrubbing grout and sacrificing sleep were worth it.
A woman with a satisfied smile | Source: Pexels
I whispered to myself, voice husky from fatigue, “I just want to see my girl walk that stage.”
Four years of scrimping and saving, of coming home with raw hands and a sore back.
Four years of Lena growing distant, making new friends, and learning new words that I sometimes struggled to understand.
A confident young woman | Source: Pexels
The microwave clock read 10:37 p.m. We still had to finalize the details about the ceremony; whether I’d have a reserved seat, what time I should arrive, etc.
But it was too late to call Lena now. She’d be studying for finals or out with those friends she mentioned — the ones I had never met.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow I would call about the ceremony.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Unsplash
On a rattling bus ride home the next day, I dialed Lena’s number.
My work shirt was damp against my back. My name, Carmen, was stitched in pale blue thread, still visible in the setting sun through the bus window.
“Hola, mija,” I said when Lena answered, the familiar voice of my daughter sending a wave of joy through my tired body.
The interior of a bus | Source: Pexels
“Mom, hi. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Just quick, I promise. About graduation next week… I could take the morning off, but I need to know if my seat will be reserved or if I need to get there early. I want a good seat to look at my girl.” I smiled softly, imagining the moment.
There was a pause, one that felt a little too long, and a little too heavy.
A person holding a cell phone | Source: Pexels
“Mom… you can come. Yeah. Uh, the seats aren’t reserved. Just… please promise you won’t wear anything weird.”
I stilled. My smile faded. “Weird? What would I wear that’s weird?”
“I just mean…” her voice dropped to a volume just above a whisper, “you know, not your usual stuff. This is a classy event. Everyone’s parents are, like, lawyers and doctors. Just dress… normal. No uniform. I don’t want people to know what you do.”
A woman speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
The bus hit a pothole, jostling me forward. I gripped the phone tighter.
I didn’t reply. Lena’s words landed like bleach on a fresh cut — sharp and burning. The way she said it, like I was some embarrassing secret she needed to cover up, hurt more than anything else ever could.
“I just want this day to be perfect,” Lena continued. “It’s important. Maybe the most important day of my life, Mom.”
A woman speaking on her phone | Source: Pexels
“I know it’s important,” I managed. “Four years I’ve worked for this day.”
“That’s not what I mean. Look, I’ve got to go. My study group is waiting.”
After Lena hung up, I sat motionless as the bus rumbled on. An old woman across the aisle gave me a sympathetic look. I wondered if my humiliation was that obvious.
A woman staring out a bus window | Source: Pexels
That night, I stood in front of my small closet.
I’d decided to wear my best church dress to the graduation weeks ago, a simple but stylish yellow knee-length with white trim. Maybe I should’ve told Lena that on the phone, but would it have changed anything?
I ran my fingers over the dress’s pleated skirt.
Clothes hanging in a closet | Source: Pexels
I’d worn this same dress to Lena’s high school graduation and had felt beautiful and proud that day. Now it looked garish in the dim light of my bedroom.
My gaze shifted to my work uniforms, three identical sets hanging neatly pressed. I had washed one that very morning.
It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t impressive. But it was honest.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Pexels
I shook my head as a wave of anger washed over me. It seemed impossible that a daughter I was so proud of could also be so disappointing.
“College might teach you fancy words, but I guess it doesn’t make you smart,” I muttered.
I then took out a notepad and began to write. When I finished, I folded the pages carefully and slipped it into an envelope.
A notepad, pen, and envelope | Source: Pexels
I arrived at the graduation ceremony early and found a seat. Rows of proud families filled in around me: perfumed women in designer outfits with real pearl necklaces, suited men with brand-name watches and silk ties.
I’d decided against wearing my church dress, after all. Instead, I sat straight-backed in my uniform.
A graduation ceremony | Source: Pexels
It was clean and neatly pressed, the blue fabric faded from hundreds of washings. I had polished my sensible work shoes until they gleamed.
I stuck out in the crowd, and I knew it.
The ceremony began with pomp and circumstance. Speeches about bright futures and limitless potential.
A woman making a speech during a graduation ceremony | Source: Pexels
I understood enough to know most of these graduates had grown up in a world without any real limitations. The pearl necklaces and expensive watches around me said it all.
And then Lena walked onto the stage, her cap bobbing among the sea of black. Her face scanned the crowd.
I knew when she spotted me because her eyes widened in horror.
A woman staring at something with wide eyes | Source: Unsplash
There was no wave. Just a tight smile. Controlled. Calculated.
I clapped anyway as she received her diploma, the kind of clap that said: You’re still my little girl, no matter what.
And I hoped she understood that even though she seemed to have gotten caught up in a world where her mother’s honest work was an embarrassment.
A person holding out a diploma | Source: Pexels
After the ceremony, families swarmed the lawn. Cameras flashed. Laughter rang out across the green space.
I stood apart, watching as Lena posed with friends, her smile wide and genuine.
When Lena finally approached, I saw my daughter’s eyes dart nervously to my uniform, then back to my face.
A woman wearing a cap and gown walking down a path | Source: Pexels
“Mom…” Lena said, her voice low. “I asked you not to wear that! I told you—”
I didn’t say a word. I just handed over the gift bag I’d brought with me.
“What’s this?” Lena asked, peering inside. She pulled out an envelope and removed a thin stack of papers.
An envelope | Source: Pexels
On the day I’d spoken to Lena, I’d written a list detailing every extra shift I took over the years to provide for her school clothes, college tuition, textbooks, and everything else she needed.
It detailed every house and hotel I’d worked in, every weekend I’d worked overtime, every penny I’d pinched along the way.
And right at the bottom, I’d written a simple message: “You wanted me invisible, but this is what built your future.”
A handwritten letter | Source: Unsplash
I left while she was still reading. I had a bus to catch. Another shift tomorrow.
A week passed. I worked extra hours to push away the memory of graduation day. My supervisor noticed my distraction.
“Everything okay, Carmen?” he asked as I restocked my cleaning cart.
A man wearing a suit | Source: Pexels
“My daughter graduated college,” I said, trying to inject pride into my voice.
“That’s wonderful! You must be so proud.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
That evening, there was a knock at my door. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.
An apartment hallway | Source: Pexels
Lena stood there, eyes puffy. She held her cap and gown bundled in her arms.
“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice small.
I stepped back, allowing my daughter to enter the apartment that had once been our shared home.
“I read your note,” Lena said after a moment of silence. “I’ve read it about 20 times.”
A serious woman | Source: Unsplash
I didn’t speak. I just nodded.
“I didn’t know,” Lena continued. “About the extra shifts, how you worked holidays, the night cleaning jobs… or, rather, I knew, but I never fully realized how much you sacrificed for me.”
“You weren’t supposed to know,” I said finally. “That was the point.”
A woman speaking to someone | Source: Unsplash
Lena’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so ashamed. Not of you — of me.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out a frame. “Can we take a photo? Just us? I didn’t get any pictures with you at graduation.”
I didn’t speak. I just nodded.
A humble woman | Source: Unsplash
We stood together in my small living room: Lena in her gown, me in my uniform. The neighbor from across the hall took the photo with Lena’s fancy phone.
“I have a job interview next week,” Lena said later as we sat at my kitchen table. “It’s a good company, and the job offer includes benefits.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Your degree is working already.”
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
“Mom.” Lena reached across and took my hand. Her fingers traced the calluses and chemical burns I’d accumulated over the years. “Your hands built my future. I’ll never forget that again.”
The photo now hangs in our hallway.
Because love doesn’t always look like pearls and pressed suits. Sometimes, it looks like bleach-stained sneakers and a mother who never gave up.
A person cleaning a toilet | Source: Pexels
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