On the eve of my wedding, my stepfather made a proposal that troubled me. After a night of thinking, I made my decision.

A wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life: wearing a white dress, smiling next to the person she loves. But for me, the night before the wedding in San Agustin felt like a year—old wounds that seemed to have been dormant suddenly resurfaced.

I am an only child. When I was a child in Laguna, I had a complete family… until the day everything fell apart. That afternoon, Nanay Lorna picked me up in silence, her eyes red, and sat me down to tell me that Itay Nestor was getting a divorce. My mother told me: my father had an affair, and was violent many times, something she had hidden from me for years. After the divorce, my father married another woman and virtually disappeared from my life—no greetings, no birthdays, no milestones with him.

On the contrary, my mother had to carry the burden alone. Later, my mother opened her heart to a gentle man—Tatay Ramon, a mechanic in the barangay. At first, I was resistant and refused to call him “Tatay.” But he never made my mother cry; he was patient and quietly present at every parent-teacher conference, every time I was sick. He had no biological children and did not want more:
— “You are enough.”

I grew up in that silent love, gradually calling him Tatay with all my heart.

Then I met Paolo—my first love, gentle and sincere. We decided to get married. I thought it would be a beautiful ending to my traumatic childhood.

But the storm came from the deepest part of my heart. Mang Arturo—Paolo’s father—was very traditional. He said that Catholic weddings required the biological parents to stand in the right roles. According to the ritual, the biological father would walk the bride down the aisle, standing on stage with the in-laws.

I understood that it was legitimate, so I asked Itay Nestor to come early on the wedding day to perform the ceremony together; my father agreed. That same evening, Tatay Ramon called me back and slowly said…
— “Tatay is very happy. Tatay has no biological child, from the beginning to the end there has only been you. Tatay… has only one wish: to hold your hand and walk down the aisle, to personally hand you over to the person you love.”

I was stunned. The man who had silently loved me for so many years had to wait until the last minute to dare to say his wish. And who would dare say that wish was not legitimate? He was the one who shouldered my broken childhood, put down a deposit on an apartment in Quezon City for me, and never let go of my mother and me when we were at our most difficult. But he was not my biological father—he was just the one who had stood in my shadow for so many years.

After a night of tossing and turning, I decided not to choose one of the two… but to choose both.

On the morning of San Agustin ringing the bells, I held Itay Nestor on one side, Tatay Ramon on the other, and walked down the aisle together. The one who gave me life and the one who raised me—both of them deserved to witness the most important moment of my life.

When they handed me over to Paolo, they said nothing, just smiled. Itay Nestor’s eyes were a little regretful; Tatay Ramon’s eyes were gentle, full of pride.

I realized: love is not about status, but about what someone does for you. That day, I was not only the happy bride—but also the luckiest girl in the world.