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It’s a sacrifice. When my dad left, my mother worked two jobs so I could have new sneakers for school. She skipped dinner sometimes so I wouldn’t go hungry.
She never bought anything for herself. Her clothes were old. Her dreams, always on hold.”
“And now? She’s finally doing something for herself. She sewed that dress by hand.
Every stitch tells a story. That pink dress? It’s freedom…
and joy. It’s decades of love wrapped up in satin.”
He turned to Emily. “If you can’t respect my mom, we’ve got a bigger problem.
But I will always stand up for the woman who raised me.”
He raised his glass. “To my mom. To pink.
To joy.”
The room erupted. Glasses clinked. And someone shouted, “Hear, hear!” I blinked fast, but the tears still came.
“I was just joking,” she mumbled, laughing nervously.
But nobody was laughing with her. And she knew it.
The rest of the evening felt like a celebration in the truest sense. People weren’t just smiling…
they were seeing me. Not as Josh’s mom. Not as some woman past her prime.
But as someone who had finally claimed her space.
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