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Wendy made it clear my grandson wasn’t welcome, not at her wedding, not in her home, and not in her life. My son went along with it, but I didn’t. I kept smiling, played the doting mother-in-law, and waited for the right moment to show everyone exactly what kind of woman he married.
I remember the first time I met Wendy.
She arrived ten minutes late in a crisp cream blazer and didn’t apologize. She greeted me with a handshake instead of a hug and didn’t once ask how I was.
My son Matthew couldn’t stop smiling. He leaned into her like he was trying to memorize her every word.
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