Five hours before “I do,” I opened the door expecting my maid of honor—only to find a baby. Alone. Asleep in a car seat, with a note pinned to her blanket: “The baby is Nate’s now. Ask him yourself.”

Nate. My fiancé. My almost-husband.

Shaken, I brought the baby inside. Her blue eyes mirrored his. When Tessa arrived, I told her everything. “I’m taking her to the wedding,” I said. “I need to see his reaction.”

At the altar, Nate’s smile faltered when he saw the baby. I handed him the note. His mother stood. “Tell her the truth.”

“She’s not mine,” Nate whispered. “She’s my sister’s. She ran away years ago. I didn’t tell you… I didn’t want to lose you.”

I was stunned. Hurt. But when I looked at the baby, my heart softened. “If I marry you, she’s my family too.”

Gasps. Murmurs. Then—applause.

We got married, baby in arms. At the reception, laughter returned. Nate held my hand. “Thank you.”

“We’ll talk later,” I smiled. “But tonight, we celebrate.”

Maybe the day didn’t go as planned. But as I looked at our tiny new beginning, I realized… it turned out even better.