For days, I couldn’t accept what had happened.
My mother was engaged—to a man my age. I lay awake at night replaying the dinner over and over, my anger battling with disbelief.
Finally, I called her, pretending I wanted to make peace. “I overreacted,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. “I want to fix things. If Aaron makes you happy, I’ll support you.”
Her relief was instant. “That means the world to me, Casey!” she said warmly. “I want you to be part of this. Let’s plan the wedding together.”
So I did. I went to dress fittings with her, sampled cakes, helped pick out decorations—all the while trying to suppress my doubts about Aaron.
