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they were seeing me. Not as Josh’s mom. Not as some woman past her prime.
Guests came up to compliment the dress. Some asked if I’d consider sewing for others. One woman whispered, “You’re brave.
That color is joy.”
Richard held my hand all night. “You,” he said, “are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”
He meant it. And I believed him.
Emily stayed mostly in the corner, scrolling on her phone.
At one point, she tried to join a group conversation, but no one really welcomed her in. And honestly? I didn’t feel bad.
Not this time.
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