The late afternoon sun bathed the living room in gold as I flipped through the mail—just bills and junk. Then the doorbell rang. It was Serena, right on time for our Saturday tradition. “Hey, Dad!” she beamed, breezing in with her usual energy. But something felt off.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” she said, fidgeting with her dress. “My fiancé.” I froze. “Fiancé?” She held up her hand, flashing a modest ring. “His name’s Edison. We’re getting married.” I was stunned. She hadn’t even mentioned a boyfriend. But the real shock came next. “He’s sixty.” Sixty. Forty-two years older than her. Practically my age.

“He’s wise, supportive, amazing,” she gushed. “You’ll love him.”

I tried to stay calm. “Serena, you’re just starting your life. He’s old enough to retire.”

“He believes in me,” she snapped. “He’s everything you never were.”

That hit hard. But I stayed quiet. She believed in this man. And I had no proof he wasn’t who he claimed to be.

“Okay,” I said finally. “When can I meet him?”

“Tomorrow night. Dinner at his place.”

I nodded, forcing a smile as she hugged me. But inside, I was bracing myself.

Tomorrow, I’d meet the man who had stolen my daughter’s heart — and I’d be ready.