Late one night, buried in paperwork from my overbearing boss, I got a call that changed everything—my mother was getting married. And I wasn’t invited.
Exhausted and numb, I tried to push through the mountain of reports Michael had just dumped on my desk—again. I’d barely made it to my car when Aunt Jenny called, chirping about giving her a ride to the wedding. “What wedding?” I asked. Silence. Then: “Your mom’s.”
I drove straight to Mom’s house. Her cardigan still smelled like lilac, but her hug was missing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“I was waiting for the right time,” she said.
“Am I even invited?”
She looked away. “It’s better this way.”
I left before she could see me cry. But I knew I had to go—I had to see who she was marrying.
At the church, heart pounding, I stuck close to Aunt Jenny—until I saw them.
Mom, glowing.
And beside her: Michael. My boss.
“You’re marrying him?!” I shouted.
Her face didn’t change. “This isn’t your place.”
Michael fled. I found him outside, quiet and ashamed. He told me he never meant to hurt me, that pushing me at work was his clumsy way of believing in me.
“I hated you,” I admitted.
“I know,” he said.
“But I don’t get to decide who makes my mom happy.”
We walked back inside—together.
The ceremony was late but beautiful. When Mom saw him return, her face lit up. When Michael made his vows, he looked at me and said, “To Alice, who pushes me to be better.”
Later, Mom asked if I was okay.
“You deserve your happy,” I said.
She kissed my forehead. “So do you.”
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was losing her. I felt like I was finally getting to know her.