My Ex-husband Abandoned Our Daughter At Her Dance Because His Stepdaughter Is “More Fun.” He Forgot My Brother Is A Family Court Judge.
There were pink and red streamers, twinkling lights, a photo booth with silly props, and a real DJ. The DJ played everything from Disney songs to clean versions of pop hits. For fourth graders, this was basically the Met Gala.
Bridget first mentioned the dance in December.
She said, “Mom Melody says her dad’s already practicing his dance moves do you think Daddy knows how to dance?”
By January, she was leaving sticky notes around the apartment reminding herself of things to tell Warren about the dance. “Ask Daddy if he likes corsages.” “Tell Daddy the theme is Enchanted Garden.” “Remind Daddy it’s February 10th at 7 p.m.”
When she finally called Warren in mid-January, I was folding laundry in the next room. I could hear the hope in her voice and the careful way she presented it, like she was afraid he’d say no.
She said, “Daddy there’s this special dance at my school and it’s just for dads and daughters all my friends are going with their dads and I was wondering if maybe you could take me it’s on a Saturday so you won’t have to miss work or anything.”
Warren must have said yes immediately because Bridget squealed so loud I dropped the towel I was folding. She ran into the laundry room and threw her arms around me.
She said, “He said yes daddy’s taking me to the dance.”
She added, “He said ‘We’ll be the best dressed pair there.'”
That’s when Warren actually surprised me. He Venmoed me $300 with a message for Bridget’s dress.
He wrote, “Make sure she gets something special.”
It was the first time in months he’d sent money without me having to ask twice. I thought maybe, just maybe, he was finally stepping up.
The dress shopping trip was magical. Bridget and I went to three different stores, and she was so serious about finding the perfect dress.
She said, “It can’t be too long because I might trip it can’t be too short because that’s not fancy it needs to twirl when I spin but not fly up too high.”
When she found the pink dress at Macy’s, she actually gasped. The sales lady, an older woman named Dolores, got tears in her eyes watching Bridget twirl in front of the three-way mirror.
“You look like a princess,” Dolores said.
And Bridget responded, “I feel like one my daddy’s going to be so proud.”
The week before the dance, our apartment became Dance Central. Bridget practiced her curtsy and her formal introduction.
She practiced, “Good evening I’m Bridget Marie Coleman and this is my father Warren James Coleman.”
She practiced every dance move she’d learned from YouTube tutorials. She made Warren a boutonniere out of silk flowers and ribbon she bought with her own allowance money.
She wrote him a card that said, “Thank you for being the best daddy and taking me to my first real dance love your Princess Bridget.”
On Thursday night, two days before the dance, Warren actually called to confirm.
He said, “Saturday at 6:30 right Princess I’ll be there I’ve got my suit pressed and everything.”
Bridget planned out their entire evening on the phone with him.
She said, “We’ll take pictures by the fountain at school and then we can get ice cream after at Brewers if you want and maybe you can meet my teacher because she’s going to be there as a chaperone.”
He replied, “Sounds perfect Bridge hey do you still like butterscotch sundaes?”
She said, “You remembered.”
He answered, “Of course I remembered I’m your dad.”
That Friday night, Bridget could barely sleep. She had her dress hanging on her bedroom door, her shoes lined up perfectly underneath, and her special occasion purse packed. She had lip gloss, breath mints, and tissues in case happy tears happened.
She made me promise to curl her hair in spirals and to use the sparkly hairspray we’d been saving for special occasions.
“Mom,” she said as I tucked her in that Friday night, “do you think Daddy will cry when he sees me in my dress?”
I smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her good night.
I said, “I think he’s going to be speechless baby.”
She smiled and closed her eyes, probably dreaming about dancing with her father under twinkling lights while her friends watched enviously.
Three Words That Shattered a Heart
If I’d known what was coming less than 24 hours later, I would have held her longer, prepared her somehow, or protected her from the disappointment. That disappointment would shatter her trust in ways I was still trying to repair. But that night we still had hope, and sometimes hope is the cruelest thing of all.
Saturday morning arrived with bright sunshine that seemed to mock what was coming. Bridget woke up at 6:00 a.m., too excited to sleep any longer. She made her own breakfast, careful not to spill anything that might stain her dress later.
She announced seriously, “Mom I’m eating toast instead of cereal because milk could splash.”
It was as if she were preparing for a NASA mission. By noon, she’d already showered and was sitting in her bathrobe painting her nails the lightest shade of pink I’d allow. Her friend Melody called three times to coordinate their grand entrance.
“We’re going to walk in at the same time,” Bridget explained to me.
She added, “Her dad and my dad know each other from that time they met at the school play so we’re all going to sit together.”
