My Stepson’s Fiancée Told Me “Only Real Moms Get a Seat in the Front”

“You’re not watching from the back,” he said, holding out his hand.
“You’re the one who raised me. Walk me down the aisle, Mom.”

Mom. He’d never called me that before.

Together, we walked forward. At the altar, he placed a chair beside him. “You sit here. Where you belong.”

Later, in his toast, he said, “To the woman who never gave birth to me—but gave me life anyway.”

Blood doesn’t make a mother. Love does.