“If you go through with this, you’re no longer my daughter.” That was the last thing my father said to me before walking away from my life. All because I chose love over status. I was 25, in love with Lucas—a quiet, hardworking carpenter—and pregnant. When I told my dad we planned to marry, he looked me in the eyes and cut me off. Just like that.

I left that night with nothing but a small suitcase and Lucas’ hand in mine. We moved into his tiny home on the edge of town, with barely enough room to turn around—especially when my belly grew… and grew. What we thought were twins turned out to be triplets. Those early years were hard.

We scraped by. Lucas took every job he could—building fences, fixing furniture, installing cabinets—while I managed what little we had. There were nights when we didn’t know if we could pay the electric bill, and days when I questioned if I’d made the right choice. But Lucas never gave up. He rocked crying babies, kissed my forehead in the chaos, and reminded me why I chose him.

Slowly, his craftsmanship got noticed. A big project came through, then more. I handled the finances, and together, we turned our struggle into a small success.By the time the triplets turned two, we had moved into a modest but cozy home. We weren’t rich—but we were happy. We had love, stability, and a life built with our own hands.