Days Before “I Do”
Days before my wedding, a stranger grabbed me in the middle of a busy downtown street. She was older, shaking, and wearing dark sunglasses even though the sky was gray and overcast.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, gripping my arm tightly. “I could lose my license…”
“Excuse me?” I pulled back, startled. “Do I know you?”
“But I can’t let you walk into this blind,” she said, ignoring my question. “Look inside his wallet. Behind his driver’s license. Do it… before you say ‘I do.’”
Then she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me frozen, heart hammering, and mind racing. I laughed nervously at first. “This has to be some kind of joke.”
But her words wouldn’t leave me alone. Something in her tone—the urgency, the fear—made my stomach twist.
It felt like déjà vu. Years ago, my first husband, Mark, had taught me a lesson I never forgot: some people only love under conditions.
We had tried for years to have a baby. Every doctor’s appointment, every chart, every quiet month of disappointment stacked up until the word children felt like a dangerous thing to say aloud.
One night, I finally dared to speak the words I’d been holding back for months, sitting beside him on the couch as he scrolled through his phone.
“What if we adopted?” I asked quietly.
Mark froze, staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “I’m not raising someone else’s kid. How could I ever love a child who didn’t share my DNA?”
His words hit harder than I expected.
“But… why not? That makes no sense.”
He rolled his eyes. “If you don’t get it, I’m not going to bother trying to explain it.”
That was it. That simple sentence shattered everything. I realized the man I had married was not the husband I thought he was. I could have let it destroy my dreams of becoming a mother—but I refused.
A few months later, I sat in a cramped office at an adoption agency. The worker slid a photo across the desk.
“This is Willie,” she said.
I picked it up, and my heart melted instantly. His bright eyes, his shy little smile—he was mine.
That night, I didn’t ask Mark about adopting Willie. I told him I was moving forward.
“If you do this, then I’m done,” he said flatly.
I just nodded. Deep down, I knew the marriage was over the minute he rejected the idea.
I adopted Willie. Mark filed for divorce.
For three years, life was hard but good. Being a single mom was exhausting, but I never regretted choosing Willie. I honestly thought I had traded away any chance at love to become a mother—and I was okay with that.
Then I met Harold.
It was one of those playground moments that feel like fate. The swings were full, so Willie lingered near the climbing structure, kicking at the mulch.
“Go on,” I encouraged, nudging him gently.
He hesitated, then spotted a little girl halfway up the ladder.
“Can I play with you?” Willie called.
“Sure! I’m Madison,” she said, beaming.
They started climbing together as if they’d rehearsed it. My chest swelled with that little flip every mother feels when her child connects with someone.
Then I noticed a man jogging toward us, out of breath, eyes wide as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Madison, you have to wait for me. You can’t just—” His words trailed off as he watched the two children on the climbing frame.
I thought he was worried about safety.
“Don’t worry, Willie is good with the younger kids. He’ll take care of her,” I said.
The man stared at us, still pale. “Willie… he doesn’t mind playing with Maddy?”
“Looks like they’re having fun to me,” I said, smiling.
He nodded slowly, still watching them, then held out his hand. “I’m Harold.”
“Jess,” I replied, shaking it.
From that day on, Harold and I kept running into each other at the park. It felt like fate, like the universe nudging us.
Willie and Madison became inseparable at the playground. Harold and I grew close. He was patient with Willie, kind to me, and seemed to love our little makeshift family.
When Harold proposed, I thought I had finally built the life I’d always dreamed of: Harold, Madison, Willie, and me.
But three days before the wedding, everything changed.
Downtown, I was carrying a heavy bag of wedding favors when a woman grabbed my arm.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered. “I could lose my license.”
My heart skipped. She was the same woman from before.
“Harold didn’t meet you by accident at the playground,” she continued. “He’s been watching you for a long time. Especially your son.”
Her words froze me in place.
“Look inside his wallet,” she said again. “Behind his driver’s license. Do it before you say ‘I do.’”
And then she vanished.
That night, while Harold was helping Madison get ready for bed, I sat on our bed staring at his wallet. My hands shook as I pulled out his driver’s license. Behind it, tucked neatly, was a worn piece of paper.
Inside was a photo of Willie—his adoption photo. Copies of his adoption records. And a note.
The first two words made my blood run cold: Find him…
I read it over and over. “Find him… we lost him once, but after I’m gone, you’ll have a second chance.”
Harold’s voice floated down the hall. “Madison’s asleep. You okay in there, Jess?”
I scrambled to fold everything and slide it back into place. “Yeah… just tired,” I said, forcing a yawn.
But I couldn’t sleep that night. Every meeting at the park, every smile, every handshake replayed in my mind. Was it all a lie?
The next morning, I dropped Willie at school and drove straight to the adoption agency. The receptionist frowned at the details I gave her.
“That file’s sealed,” she said. “How did you get this number?”
“My fiancé had it,” I replied, voice firm. “I need to know why.”
She disappeared into the back, and minutes later, an older woman appeared. My stranger.
“Why does Harold have my son’s paperwork?” I demanded.
“He and his wife tried to adopt Willie years ago,” the woman said carefully. “They were unsuccessful. His wife was sick—cancer. He promised her he’d try again someday. That’s why he kept the paperwork and photo. He wanted a second chance.”
My chest sank. This wasn’t love—it was obsession.
That evening, at the rehearsal dinner, I tried to act normal. But in the church, standing before Harold, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.
“Everything okay?” Harold asked softly.
I took a deep breath, quoting the note. “Find him. We lost him once, but after I’m gone, you’ll have a second chance.”
Harold froze. “Jess… it’s not what you think. I—I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I just… I wanted to keep a promise to my late wife.”
“So you tracked us down?” I asked, voice trembling.
“Yes… but I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he admitted, head hung low.
I faced the congregation. “The engagement is off.”
The weeks that followed were painful. Lawyers, tears, endless explanations. I filed a restraining order to keep Willie safe.
One night, tucking him in, he looked up at me. “Mom? Are we okay?”
I kissed his forehead, holding his small hand in mine. “You and I are always okay, sweetie. No matter what happens, I’ll make sure we’re good.”
He smiled, closing his eyes. “Okay, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered, stepping into the hallway. My heart was heavy, but the future—our future—looked bright.