Until his mother stood up.
She didn’t stand like someone needing a tissue or adjusting her dress. She stood like a judge about to deliver a sentence.
“I’m sorry,” Linda said loudly. “But before this continues, something needs to be addressed.”
Whispers rustled through the crowd. The officiant paused. Thomas frowned.
Linda stepped forward and pointed toward Karen.
“This woman,” she said, “has no right walking this girl down the aisle. She is not her mother. She is not blood. And frankly, this is a slap in the face to real mothers everywhere.”
My breath caught. My legs locked in place.
Linda’s voice grew louder. “Weddings are sacred. Family is sacred. And if we’re going to build a foundation for marriage, we should start with truth and respect. Respect for the dead. Respect for real parents.”
Karen’s hand slipped from mine. I turned to her—her eyes filled with tears, face drained of color.
Thomas looked stunned. “Mom,” he said. “What are you doing?”
But she wasn’t done.
“I tried to be quiet about this. But when I saw that woman sitting in the front row, in the seat where Emma’s mother should be—well, I couldn’t stay silent.”
Then she turned to me. “Emma, if you want to start your marriage with lies, go ahead. But don’t expect me to pretend this is right.”
Time froze.
