Wendy didn’t just want a wedding — she wanted a curated life. One with no mess, no crayons on the floor, and no reminders of the life Matthew had before her.
And Alex? He was that reminder.
Still, Matthew didn’t challenge her. He never did.
On the wedding day, I dressed Alex myself. He looked so handsome in his tiny gray suit and navy tie. I knelt down to tie his shoelaces and tucked a small bouquet into his little hands.
“I want to give this to Miss Wendy,” he whispered. “So she knows I’m happy she’s gonna be my new mommy.”
I almost told him not to. Almost told him to save that flower for someone who truly deserved it. But I didn’t. I just kissed his forehead and said softly, “You are so kind, my grandson.”
When we arrived at the venue, Wendy spotted us instantly. Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes hardened. She crossed the garden in quick, deliberate steps and pulled me aside.
“Why is he here?” she hissed, low but furious.
“He’s here for his father,” I said calmly.
“We talked about this,” she said sharply. “You promised not to bring him.”
“I never promised,” I replied evenly. “You told me what you wanted. I never agreed.”
“I’m serious, Margaret,” she snapped. “He’s not supposed to be here. This is not a children’s party. This is my day.”
“And he’s Matthew’s son,” I said. “That makes him part of this day, whether you like it or not.”
She folded her arms tightly. “Well, don’t expect me to include him in photos or seat him at the reception. I’m not going to pretend he’s part of something he’s not.”
I could feel my nails digging into my palms. But I smiled. “Of course, dear. Let’s not cause a scene.”
