My whole family was happy when my father remarried at 60 to a woman thirty years younger.

—but on the wedding night, a strange scream echoed from the bedroom, and what I saw left me speechless…

My father’s name is Antônio Ferreira. This spring, he turned sixty.
My mother passed away when my sister and I were still in college. For more than twenty years, my father lived alone—no dates, no second chances—just work, Sunday mass, and his small garden in Belo Horizonte.

Our relatives would always say:

“Antônio, you’re still strong and healthy. A man shouldn’t live alone forever.”

He would just smile calmly and reply:

“When my daughters are doing well, then I’ll think about myself.”

And he truly believed it.

When my sister got married and I landed a stable job in São Paulo, he finally had time to focus on his own life. Then, one November night, he called us with a tone I hadn’t heard in years—warm, hopeful, almost shy:

“I’ve met someone,” he said. “Her name is Larissa.”

My sister and I were shocked. Larissa was thirty years old—half my father’s age.

She worked as an accountant at a local insurance company, was divorced, and had no children. They met at a yoga class for seniors at the community center.

At first, we thought she might be taking advantage of him. But when we met her—kind, polite, softly spoken—we noticed the way she looked at my father. And the way he looked back at her. It wasn’t pity. It was peace.

The ceremony took place in the backyard of our family home, under a large mango tree decorated with tiny lights. Nothing extravagant—just a simple gathering of friends and family, roasted chicken, soda, laughter, and a few tears.

Larissa wore a pale pink dress, her hair up, eyes full of tenderness. My father seemed nervous but happy—as if he were a young man in love for the first time.

That night, while everyone was helping clean up, my sister joked:

“Dad, try to be quiet tonight, okay? The walls are thin!”

He laughed and replied:

“Oh, go take care of your own life, silly girl.”

Then he took Larissa’s hand and went into the master bedroom—the same one he had shared with my mother for over thirty years. We had suggested he redecorate before the wedding, but he refused:

“Keeping it as it is brings me peace,” he said.

Around midnight, I woke up to a noise. I thought it was the wind… or maybe a cat in the yard. But then—a scream. Sharp. Terrified.

My sister and I jumped out of bed and ran to my father’s room. Behind the door, we heard Larissa’s trembling voice:

“No! Please… don’t do that!”

I pushed the door open with force.

And what I saw before my eyes… left me speechless.

My father was holding a huge bouquet of flowers he had prepared for her—he had planned a romantic surprise, but he tripped over the old rug, knocking everything to the floor. Larissa had fallen back onto the bed, screaming in fright but immediately bursting into nervous laughter. My father, blushing and laughing at the same time, apologized while helping her up.

In that moment, I realized: all the fear and drama I had imagined was just a testament to their love. Despite the age difference, despite all those years of loneliness, they were finally happy—and their life together was only beginning.

That night, after we gathered the flowers and laughter, we all sat in the living room, relieved. The scream that had initially terrified us became a funny story we would laugh about for years. My father and Larissa slept embraced, and for the first time in a long time, the house felt complete again.