My DIL Laughed at the Pink Wedding Dress I Sewed for Myself – She Never Expected My Son to Step In

“You’ve got a grandson. You’re supposed to wear navy or beige, not… Barbie pink.

Honestly, it’s pathetic.”

Josh stayed silent and stared at his mug like it held the answer to world peace.

I felt the heat crawl up my neck. “Well,” I said, standing up, “it makes me happy.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Whatever!”

But her words had already done the damage.

I smiled, poured more tea, and asked about her work, like I hadn’t just been kicked in the gut.

Still, I told myself I wasn’t going to let her take this from me. Because joy, once stitched together, doesn’t come undone that easily.

The morning of the wedding, I stood in front of the mirror in my modest bedroom.

The blush dress hugged my body in the gentlest way. My hair was pinned, my lipstick subtle, and for once, I didn’t feel like someone’s mother or someone’s ex.

I felt like a woman about to start again.

I ran my hands down the satin slowly, pausing at the waistline. The seams weren’t perfect.

Continue reading…