The Wedding Night Scream That Left Me Speechless

My father, Antônio Ferreira, turned sixty this spring. After losing my mother when my sister and I were still in college, he had lived alone for more than twenty years—no dates, no second chances—just work, Sunday mass, and his small garden in Belo Horizonte.

Relatives often said:
“Antônio, you’re still strong and healthy. A man shouldn’t live alone forever.”
He’d just smile and reply:
“When my daughters are settled, then I’ll think about myself.”

He truly believed it.

When my sister married and I got a stable job in São Paulo, he finally allowed himself to take care of his own life. One November night, he called us, his tone warm and almost shy:

“I met someone. Her name is Larissa.”

Larissa was thirty—half my father’s age—an accountant, divorced, no children. They’d met at a senior citizens’ yoga class. At first, we worried she might be taking advantage of him. But meeting her, polite and kind, we saw the way she looked at him—and he at her. It wasn’t pity. It was peace.

The wedding was simple: the backyard, a large mango tree decorated with tiny lights, friends and family, roast chicken, soft drinks, laughter, and tears. Larissa wore a light pink dress; my father looked nervous, happy—like a young man in love for the first time.

That night, as everyone tidied up, my sister teased:
“Dad, try not to make any noise tonight, okay? The walls are thin!”
He laughed and replied:
“Oh, go mind your own business, you little rascal.”

Around midnight, I awoke to a strange noise. I thought it was the wind… or the cat. Then—a scream. High-pitched, terrifying.

My sister and I ran to his room. Behind the door, Larissa’s trembling voice called:
“No! Please… don’t do that!”

I pushed the door open—and froze.

My father was holding a huge bouquet of flowers he had prepared as a surprise. But he had tripped on the old rug, sending everything to the floor. Larissa had fallen onto the bed, screamed in fright, then burst into nervous laughter. My father, blushing and laughing, apologized as he helped her up.

That night, I realized all the fear and drama I’d imagined meant nothing. Despite the age difference, despite years of loneliness, they were finally happy. The terrifying scream had been nothing more than love, awkwardly wrapped in flowers and laughter.

After picking up the bouquet and easing the laughter, we all sat in the living room, relieved. My father and Larissa slept in each other’s arms. For the first time in decades, the house felt whole again.