ADVERTISEMENT
So, on the wedding day, I dressed Alex myself. He looked so handsome in his tiny gray suit and navy tie. I knelt to tie his laces and tucked a small bouquet into his little hands.
“I want to give this to Miss Wendy,” he whispered. “So she knows I’m happy she’s gonna be my new mommy.”
I almost told him not to. Almost told him to save that flower for someone who deserved it. But I didn’t. I just kissed his forehead and said softly, “You are so kind, my grandson.”
“Why is he here?” she hissed, her voice low but full of fury.
“He’s here for his father,” I said calmly.
“We talked about this,” she snapped. “You promised not to bring him.”
“I never promised,” I replied evenly. “You told me what you wanted. I never agreed.”
“I’m serious, Margaret,” she said through clenched teeth. “He’s not supposed to be here. This is not a children’s party. This is my day.”
“And he’s Matthew’s son,” I said. “That makes him part of this day, whether you like it or not.”
She folded her arms. “Well, don’t expect me to include him in photos or seat him at the reception. I’m not going to pretend he’s part of something he’s not.”
My nails pressed into my palm. But I smiled. “Of course, dear. Let’s not cause a scene.”
Except… I already had one planned.
He caught Alex reaching for Matthew’s hand. Matthew brushing dust from his jacket, holding him close, sharing a quiet laugh. All those small, tender moments that said, This child belongs here.
He also caught Wendy — the way her body stiffened whenever Alex approached, the way her eyes narrowed when he laughed too loudly, and the way she wiped her cheek after he kissed it.
After the ceremony, I brought Alex up for a photo with his father. Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet, simple moment.
Wendy saw and stormed over.
“No,” she said flatly. “Absolutely not. I don’t want him in these photos.”
“Just one,” I pleaded. “Just him and Matthew.”
“He’s not my child!” she burst out sharply, loud enough for the bridesmaids to glance over. “I don’t want him in any photos. Please take him away.”
“I didn’t sign up for this,” she shot back. “We agreed it would be just the two of us. I told Matthew what I could handle.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
“You don’t get to pick and choose which parts of a person you marry,” I said softly. “But I guess you’ll learn that soon.”
When it was time for the toast, I stood up, glass raised high.
“To Wendy,” I said warmly, “the daughter I never had. May she learn that families aren’t edited like photo albums. They come with history, with love, and with children who miss their mothers and just want a place to belong. And may she one day understand that marrying a man means marrying his whole life — not just the curated parts.”
Silence fell over the room. Wendy blinked slowly, gripping her champagne glass.
Alex tugged at her dress. “Auntie Wendy, you look so pretty,” he said softly. “I’m so happy you’re going to be my new mommy now.”
She didn’t answer. She just nodded stiffly and patted his head like he was a dog.
He hugged her leg and handed her the flowers. She took them between two fingers, as if they were wet laundry.
