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I checked my mailbox every day for three weeks, each time with a flutter of anticipation, only to find bills, advertisements, and the occasional card from clients thanking me for planning their perfect events. But never the cream-colored envelope with gold embossing that I knew the Pearsons would select for their son’s engagement celebration. “They’re probably just finalizing the guest list,” I told myself the first week.
Perhaps there was a delay at the printers, I reasoned during the second. By the third week, I had run out of excuses. The engagement party for my only son—my James—was happening in two days, and I still hadn’t received an invitation.
Just as I was about to hang up, his voice came through, slightly distracted. “Hey, Mom, can I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”
“Of course,” I said automatically.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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