At My Own Wedding, My Dad Took The Microphone, Said: “Raise Your Glass To The Daughter Who Finally Found Someone Desperate Enough To Marry Her.” People Laughed. My Fiancé Didn’t. He Opened A Video On The Projector And Said: “Let’s Talk About What You Did Instead”

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.

In the Foster household, there are two types of children: the heir and the afterthought.

My brother Derek is the heir. Four years older, groomed from birth to take over the dealership. Private school education, $68,000 a year, paid in full by Dad. Business degree from a mid-tier university, graduated with a C average, and still got a corner office at Foster Motors before his diploma was framed.

Then there’s me. The daughter. The one who was expected to marry well and stop asking questions.

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