I’d accepted my place in the back row – after all, stepmothers don’t rate prime seating at weddings. Or so Melissa, Nathan’s bride-to-be, had informed me. But my stepson had other plans. Halfway down the aisle, he turned and spoke six life-changing words: “Walk me down the aisle, Mom.”
Seventeen years flashed before my eyes – the dinosaur book I’d given our first meeting, the cookies we baked every Saturday, the way we clung to each other after his father’s sudden death. None of that had made me a “real mom” in Melissa’s eyes. But in that breathtaking moment, Nathan rewrote the definition.
As we walked arm-in-arm past the shocked guests, I realized something profound: Stepparenting is the ultimate act of faith. We love without guarantees, without titles, without recognition. But sometimes – if we’re very lucky – that love comes full circle in the most unexpected ways.
