The folded program in my hands trembled as I took my seat in the last row. The bride’s cruel words still echoed in my mind: “The front row is for biological parents only.” After raising Nathan since he was six, I never imagined being banished to the back on his wedding day.
Memories flooded back – our first meeting when I brought him that dinosaur book instead of a toy, the way he’d slept with it under his pillow. I remembered our heart-to-heart while baking cookies when I asked permission to marry his dad. “Will you still make cookies with me?” he’d asked, and I’d kept that promise through every birthday and heartbreak.
As the ceremony started, I blinked back tears until I heard Nathan’s voice cut through the crowd. “Victoria?” he called, using the name I’d first introduced myself with. Then louder: “Mom! Come sit up here!” The entire wedding party turned as I walked down the aisle to embrace the young man who had just proven family isn’t always about blood.
