I always knew I wasn’t Nathan’s “real” mom. But on his wedding day, he made sure the whole world knew I was.
When I married Richard, Nathan was just a boy, still hurting from his mother’s abandonment. I never tried to take her place—I just loved him in my own way. I packed his lunches, helped with school projects, and held him when he cried.
Years passed, and we became a family. But I never expected to be treated like his mother—until his wedding.
Melissa, his bride, was polite but firm. “The front row is reserved for parents,” she said. I nodded and sat in the back, heart aching but determined to stay strong.
Then, as Nathan walked down the aisle, he froze. He turned, eyes locking onto mine. Without a word, he marched to the back and took my hand. “You’re walking with me,” he said.
The crowd gasped as we made our way to the altar. He even moved a chair for me—right in the front.
At the reception, Nathan’s toast said it all: “Blood doesn’t make family. Love does.”
That day, he didn’t just marry the love of his life—he honored the woman who loved him first.
