Swamped with work late at night, I got a call that flipped my life upside down: my mom was getting married, and I wasn’t invited. The secrecy hurt, but nothing compared to the shock of discovering who her groom was.
I was stuck at my desk, drowning in reports my boss, James, had dumped on me. His cold, “Get it done by morning,” made my blood boil, but I stayed silent, counting the months until I could quit. As I finally left, my phone rang. Aunt Marie’s voice was cheerful, asking for a ride to Mom’s wedding. “What wedding?” I asked, floored. Her silence told me Mom had kept it from me. I sped to her house, my heart racing.
Mom opened the door, her familiar sweater comforting yet distant. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded. She looked down, saying she was waiting for the right moment. When I asked if I was invited, her head shake hit hard. “It’s for the best,” she said, citing my stress. I walked away, hurt but determined to crash that wedding and see who this guy was.
A week later, I picked up Aunt Marie, her bright hat and chatter barely registering. At the church, the air smelled of flowers and wax. I saw Mom in a soft white dress, radiant but tense, standing next to—James, my boss. “You’re marrying him?” I shouted, stunned. Every head turned. Mom said quietly, “This isn’t your place.” I snapped, “I can’t stand him!” James started to leave, but Mom’s tears held him back.
I found him outside, looking small under the gray sky. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, admitting he’d piled work on me to push my potential. I saw Mom’s secrecy was to protect me. “Go back,” I told him. We walked in together. The ceremony was beautiful, with light streaming through stained glass. James’s vow mentioned me, “To Alice, who challenges me.” My anger softened.
At the reception, under twinkling lights, Mom asked if I was okay. I nodded, saying, “Be happy.” James’s gentle nod felt like a new start. That night, I didn’t just see my mom marry—I felt closer to her than ever, like I was seeing her heart for the first time.