My Fiancé Left Me At The Altar Because I Use A Wheelchair. Two Weeks Later, He Saw My Face On A 50-foot Nike Billboard And Realized I’m A Millionaire. Now He’s Begging For Forgiveness. Aita?
“Fair point,” He said, grinning. “Should we go look at fish and pretend we’re not both overthinking everything?”
“Perfect plan.” We spent three hours at that aquarium, talking about everything and nothing.
He told me about his students and the challenges of teaching in an underfunded school system. I told him about training for the Paralympics and the pressure of being a public figure.
He didn’t treat me like I was fragile or inspirational. He just treated me like a person.
At the end of the date, as we stood—well, as he stood and I sat—outside the aquarium watching the sunset over the bay, he said: “I’d really like to see you again, but I want to be upfront about something first.”
“Okay.” I replied.
“I saw what Michael did to you. I was standing right there at the altar when he walked out, and I want you to know that I think he’s a coward and an idiot and what he did was cruel.”
“But I also want you to know that I’m not him. I’m not intimidated by your success or your disability or anything else about you. In fact, those things are part of what makes you interesting.”
“So if you’re willing to give me a chance, I promise I won’t waste it.”
Disentangled and Moving Forward
I looked at him for a long moment, this tall, earnest man with kind eyes and a nervous smile.
And I thought about Michael, about the way he’d hidden his discomfort behind a facade of support, about the way he’d seen my disability as a burden instead of just part of who I was.
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’d like to see you again.”
He smiled so widely I couldn’t help but smile back. Six months later, David moved into my condo in Pacific Heights.
By then I’d completely disentangled myself from everything related to Michael. The divorce paperwork had been finalized.
There wasn’t much to divide since we’d never actually gotten married, but there were deposits to recover and accounts to separate.
I never spoke to him again after that day at the coffee shop.
I heard through mutual acquaintances that he’d moved to Los Angeles, supposedly for a job opportunity, but more likely because he couldn’t handle living in a city where my face was on a 50-foot billboard.
Good riddance. David and I built a life together that felt nothing like what I’d had with Michael.
We were partners in the truest sense, supporting each other’s careers, challenging each other to grow, celebrating each other’s successes without jealousy or competition.
He came to my speaking engagements and cheered the loudest. I went to his track meets and helped time his runners.
One evening, about 8 months after we started dating, we were cooking dinner together in my kitchen.
While he was cooking, I was sitting at the island chopping vegetables and stealing pieces of cheese from the cutting board.
The radio was playing softly in the background and everything felt easy and comfortable. “I love this,” David said suddenly, looking up from the stove.
“Cooking?” I asked. “This. Us. The way we fit together. I’ve never had this before. This feeling like I can just be myself and that’s enough.”
I smiled and said, “I know what you mean. With Michael I always felt like I was performing, like I had to be smaller, quieter, less myself to make the relationship work. With you I don’t feel that at all.”
He came around the island and kissed the top of my head. “Good, because I like the real you. All of you: the Paralympic gold medalist and the Nike athlete and the woman who burns toast and falls asleep during movies and has strong opinions about pizza toppings.”
“Pineapple does not belong on pizza,” I said firmly.
“See? Strong opinions. I love it.” He said.
Returning to the Altar
A year after the wedding that wasn’t, I was invited back to Grace Cathedral.
It wasn’t for a wedding, but to speak at a fundraiser for the adaptive sports nonprofit I’d been working with.
Standing at the same altar where Michael had abandoned me, I looked out at the crowd and felt nothing but gratitude.
“A year ago,” I told the audience. “I was supposed to get married in this church. Instead, my fiancé walked out on me in front of everyone I knew.”
“At the time it felt like the worst moment of my life. But looking back now, I realize it was actually the best thing that could have happened to me.”
I saw some surprised faces in the crowd because that moment forced me to stop hiding.
It forced me to step into my full power and stop making myself smaller for someone else’s comfort.
It pushed me to be visible and vocal and unapologetic about who I am, and it led me here—to this work that I love, advocating for kids who need to see someone like them succeeding.
