He stood up, walked to the projector that was supposed to show our engagement photos, and plugged in a USB drive he’d been carrying in his vest pocket for eight months.
“Let’s talk about what you did instead,” he said.
What happened next made my father’s biggest business partner walk out, my mother file for separation that same night, and my brother apologize to me for the first time in thirty-three years.
I’m Dalia, twenty-nine years old, and this is the story of the wedding my husband spent eight months preparing for—not for the ceremony, but for that exact moment. If you’re watching this, please subscribe and let me know where you are watching from.
To understand what happened at that wedding, you need to understand the Foster family hierarchy.
My father, Richard Foster, owns Foster Motors, a car dealership in Sacramento that pulls in $8.7 million a year. He’s got a net worth of around $4.2 million, and he never lets anyone forget it. “Self-made man,” he calls himself. Though I found out years later that my maternal grandfather gave him the startup loan he conveniently never mentions.
