My Dad Kicked Me Out for Marrying a Poor Man – He Cried When He Saw Me After 3 Years

My Dad Kicked Me Out for Marrying a Poor Man – He Cried When He Saw Me After 3

Years

Three years ago, my father told me, "If you go through with this, you're no longer my daughter," and then he slammed the door on our relationship. I thought I would never hear from him again—until his black vehicle arrived at my house.

I didn't expect life to turn this way. If you had told me three years ago that I would be sitting here writing about being estranged from the man who raised me, I would have laughed at you. Back then, my life seemed straightforward. Or so I believed.

It all began with two small pink lines. Two tiny marks that forever changed my world. I was 25, working as a junior architect in the city, and deeply in love with Lucas, a gentle carpenter from a small village outside town.

Lucas wasn’t the type to impress you with grand romantic acts. His charm was subtle—little notes in my lunch, his memory for details I shared, the warmth in his gaze when he looked at me. He was my calm amid chaos. And I knew my father would dislike him.

I wasn't mistaken.

When I told my father I was expecting and wanted to marry Lucas, my heart pounded as if it might burst out of my chest.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. My father, a tall, commanding man with silver hair and piercing, calculating eyes, simply stared at me. There was no shouting, no door slamming. Just a long, heavy silence. His face was unreadable, which made everything worse.

Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but colder than I had ever heard. "If you go through with this, you're no longer my daughter."

I blinked, uncertain if I had heard him right. "What? Dad, you don’t really mean that—"

"I do." His voice had the chill of ice. "You’re making a mistake, Lily. That boy has nothing to give you. No money, no prospects. You’re wasting your life."

"He's not 'that boy.'" My voice trembled, but I pushed forward. "Lucas is kind. He works hard. He loves me, Dad. Isn't that enough?"

My father’s face hardened. "Love doesn’t pay bills. It doesn’t build a future. I raised you better than this."

Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to cry. "You raised me to stand up for myself. To fight for what’s right. Lucas and I are starting a family, Dad. I wish you could see that."

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned, left for his office, and closed the door. That was all. No goodbye, no “I’ll miss you,” just silence.

That night, I packed up my belongings, left the house that had been my home since I was born, and moved in with Lucas. My father completely severed ties.

For months, I was consumed by anger. How could he? How could the man who used to tuck me in every night and braid my hair before school abandon me simply because I fell in love with someone he disapproved of?

I cried myself to sleep many nights, but life didn’t pause for my grief. Living with Lucas required all my energy.

His tiny house felt like a closet, especially when my belly started to grow. "I know it’s not much," Lucas would say with guilt in his voice. "But we’ll manage."

We tried our best. He took on every odd job he could find—fixing fences, building cabinets—and I did what I could, though being pregnant with what we thought were twins left me drained every day.

When the babies turned out to be triplets, I almost fainted during delivery. Lucas looked as scared as I felt but managed to whisper, "Guess we’re overachievers."

Sleepless nights became our routine. We worried about how we’d pay for diapers, whether the electricity would stay on, and if we were failing as parents. We argued often, tired and stressed, but Lucas never wavered. He held one baby while soothing another and still kissed my forehead.

Gradually, things improved. Lucas’ carpentry work attracted a local business owner, who commissioned large projects. Word spread, and soon, we couldn’t keep up with orders.

I started managing our finances. By the time the triplets turned two, the life we once had in that small house had changed. We bought a modest home, a used car, and for the first time, I felt we were truly stable.

Then, I received a call.

My father’s voice was sharp and clear. "Lily, I hear you have children now."

My throat tightened. "Yes. Three of them."

"I’ll come tomorrow," he said flatly. "You and the children deserve a better life. I’m giving you a chance to return. If you refuse… this is goodbye forever."

When I ended the call, I felt nervous and hopeful at the same time. My father was coming. The man who rejected me years ago and hadn’t called in three years was suddenly trying to re-enter my life. Why now?

The next morning, his sleek black car rolled into our gravel driveway, standing out among our simple home.