The day of the two weddings arrived with a strange mixture of excitement and heaviness, as if the world had decided to celebrate and break hearts at the same time.
At the grand cathedral in the city, Anna and Xavier's wedding was unfolding like a scene lifted from a magazine spread. The entire place was transformed into an elegant masterpiece—white and black motifs woven into every corner, from the towering floral pillars to the glossy aisle that gleamed under the chandeliers. Luxury cars lined the street, security personnel stood by every entrance, and cameras flashed endlessly as reporters tried to capture every detail of the most anticipated wedding of the season.
Politicians mingled with business tycoons, celebrities, and socialites dressed in immaculate gowns and tailored suits. Conversations buzzed in every direction, the air heavy with perfume, extravagance, and high expectations.
Dylan stood near the back, stiff and expressionless among the glittering guests. He wore a perfectly tailored suit—he looked like he belonged in this glamorous crowd, but everything inside him rebelled. If it weren't for Flynn insisting he attend, he wouldn't have set foot anywhere near his father's wedding. Just standing there felt like a betrayal of his mother.
He kept his hands in his pockets, jaw tight, trying to block out the feeling crawling up his chest. The more beautiful the setting became, the more suffocating it felt.
Then the music shifted.
The heavy cathedral doors opened, and Anna stepped inside.
Her gown shimmered under the soft lights—an elegant white dress that flowed like liquid silk behind her. She looked breathtaking, perfect from every angle, the kind of bride people would whisper about for weeks. Guests gasped softly, phones quietly lifted to record her grand entrance.
But for Dylan, every step she took down the aisle felt like a slow tightening of a rope around his chest.
His father's eyes lit up with pride and joy as he watched Anna walk toward him—eyes that once looked at his mother with the same tenderness.
Dylan swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost painful.
He didn't hate Anna. He knew that. But he couldn't feel her inside his world, couldn't connect her to the pieces of his past that still hurt. She wasn't his mother. No one could be.
And today felt like a confirmation that the door to that past had finally been closed... locked... and sealed away.
He exhaled shakily, gaze drifting downward. If only Flynn were here, he thought bitterly. At least he wouldn't be standing alone.
But he had insisted Dylan come. And Dylan had agreed—reluctantly, resentfully, yet faithfully.
When the ceremony finally ended, the lavish reception began at a high-end hotel famed for its opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, a live orchestra filled the enormous ballroom with soft classical music, and waiters roamed with champagne flutes on silver trays.
Everyone seemed to sparkle.
Except for Dylan.
He stayed at the far side of the room, leaning against a column, deliberately avoiding conversations. Every laugh, every toast, every congratulatory embrace only made him feel more distant, more out of place. He checked the time again and again, counting the minutes until he wouldn't be considered rude for leaving.
He lifted a glass of wisky and stared blankly at the ice swirling inside.
And then a familiar figure approached.
"Dylan."
Xavier stopped in front of him, warmth and gratitude in his voice. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot."
Dylan didn't smile. Didn't pretend.
"I'm only here because someone told me to," he said, voice calm but cold. "Don't mistake my presence for approval."
Then he stepped past his father and walked out without looking back.
He didn't wait for a response. Didn't care if anyone saw. He wanted air—real air, away from chandeliers and expectations and people pretending everything was perfect.
As the heavy doors closed behind him, the sound of celebration faded, replaced by the distant hum of the city. And for the first time that day, he felt like he could breathe.
-
Across town, an entirely different wedding was taking place—smaller, simpler, but filled with a warmth that didn't need chandeliers or grand ballrooms to shine.
Lucas and Mary stood inside a quaint chapel decorated with white ribbons, fresh flowers, and carefully arranged chairs. Their families filled the pews, along with a few close neighbors who had watched their love story unfold from the beginning.
When they exchanged vows, the smiles on their faces were soft and genuine. There were no flashing cameras, no reporters waiting outside—just people who loved them, cheering them on.
After the ceremony, the celebration moved to Flynn's home, where tables had been set up under the open sky. Dishes prepared by neighbors filled the long wooden table with loving effort. Children ran around laughing, adults settled into conversations, and the air buzzed with simple, unmistakable joy.
Inside the house, Flynn was tending to guests when Jacob and Nathan approached him, both looking sheepish.
"Sorry, Flynn," Jacob said, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't bring any gifts. We're not ready."
Flynn chuckled softly and waved it off. "It's fine. Really. I'm just happy you guys came."
Nathan grinned. "Uncle looks so happy."
Flynn glanced outside, watching Lucas laugh with relatives, and his chest warmed.
Soon, someone called out, "Flynn! Song number!"
Groans and laughter erupted. Flynn tried to refuse, cheeks warming, but the guests cheered him on. Eventually, he gave in, picking up the mic as the soft melody of a classic love song began to play.
His voice—clear, warm, a little shy—filled the air.
People swayed gently. Some wiped tears. Others recorded him with their phones.
And Lucas watched from the crowd, eyes soft with fatherly pride.
When the dancing portion of the program began, Flynn found himself standing in front of his father for the traditional parent dance. Lucas held out his hand.
"Thank you," Lucas said as they began to sway slowly. "For accepting Mary. It means more than you know."
Flynn smiled up at him. "I just want you to be happy. You deserve this."
Mary watched them from her seat, hand pressed lovingly to her heart.
Then Tony slipped into her lap, eyes wide with innocent curiosity. "Mama Mary," he whispered, glancing at Lucas. "Since you and Uncle Lucas are married... can I call him Papa now?"
The room erupted in cheers, laughter, and applause.
Lucas froze for half a second—then his expression melted into pure joy as Tony called out loud and clear:
"Papa!"
The celebration grew livelier, drinks flowing, music playing, people dancing.
But as the night deepened, Flynn found himself stepping away from the crowd, leaning quietly against the wooden post near the veranda.
From here, he could see everything—his father laughing, Mary glowing with happiness, Tony clinging to Lucas's neck as if he'd always belonged there.
It was beautiful.
It was perfect.
But it hurt a little, too.
His chest tightened with emotions he couldn't name—joy, relief, longing, loneliness. A strange ache curled beneath his ribs, warm and sharp at the same time.
He lifted his glass and took another sip, the burn doing nothing to steady him.
He was happy. Truly.
But he couldn't stop the heaviness that crept in as he watched his father with his new family.
After the party had wound down, the guests at Lucas and Mary's wedding began to head home. Tony, exhausted from the day's excitement and nestled in Mary's arms, had already fallen asleep. Mary quietly carried him inside, deciding it was time for some rest. Lucas accompanied Grandma Mina to her room, making sure she was settled, before heading toward the living area where Flynn had passed out at the table, completely drained from the alcohol.
After a while, Dylan arrived, still wearing his suit from his father's wedding earlier that day. He paused for a moment, taking in the scene. "Uncle," he said, stepping closer. "Congrats on your wedding, Uncle."
Lucas smiled warmly, reaching out to clap Dylan on the shoulder. "Thanks, Dylan. And congratulations to you too—on your father's wedding. Truly, you're already part of the family. Well, I've considered you like a son from the start."
"Thanks, Uncle," Dylan replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Lucas's eyes then flicked toward Flynn, who was sprawled face-first on the table, completely unconscious. "Looks like someone overdid it with the drinks," Lucas remarked lightly, shaking his head.
Dylan followed his gaze and nodded. "Don't worry, Uncle. I'll take care of him. I'll bring him back to the apartment so you and Aunt Mary can have some privacy after your big day."
"Thanks, Dylan. I'm counting on you with my son," Lucas said, his tone filled with quiet trust.
Without hesitation, Dylan gently lifted Flynn over his shoulder, careful not to jostle him too much. Flynn mumbled incoherently, still half-drowned in sleep, but Dylan ignored the muffled protests. Step by step, he carried him toward the car, steady and composed despite the weight.
Lucas watched his two sons as they walked away and let out a long breath. He knew it hadn't been easy for Flynn to accept his remarriage, but he was grateful that his son had finally chosen to embrace their new family. And deeper still, Lucas felt thankful that Dylan was there—for Flynn, and for the parts of his son he couldn't always reach on his own.
Once they were outside, Dylan settled Flynn carefully into the passenger seat, making sure the belt was secure before circling around to the driver's side.
For a moment, he just sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, his gaze drifting toward Flynn's sleeping face. There was a quiet heaviness in Dylan's eyes—he could feel the weight of Flynn's pain as if it were his own.
He reached out and gently brushed his fingers along Flynn's cheek, his touch soft, almost hesitant. A whisper escaped him, barely audible in the stillness of the night.
"Don't worry, Flynn... I'm always here for you."