She was already turning away, waving at one of her bridesmaids across the room.
“How cute. He was always so handy, wasn’t he, Veronica?”
They all laughed like I’d told the funniest joke in the world. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference between people laughing with you and people laughing at you.
“Grandma, you doing okay?” Ethan whispered to me later, his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine, sweetheart. Just fine.”
The wedding was three months later.
Veronica’s family pulled out all the stops. It was a grand ceremony, with 400 guests, an orchestra instead of a DJ, and a floral arch so tall it could’ve been a building. I’d never seen so much money gathered in one place, and honestly, it made me a little dizzy.
I spent weeks on a handmade quilt, using fabric I’d been saving for years. There was Ethan’s baby blanket, soft and faded from all those nights I rocked him to sleep. A piece of his first school uniform that still had a grass stain on the collar.
One of Walter’s old flannel shirts that I swear still smelled like him if I closed my eyes and imagined hard enough. Even a scrap from my wedding dress, yellowed with age but more precious than gold.
It wasn’t perfect. The stitches weren’t all even, and my hands cramped up something awful. But it was real. It was a piece of our family’s story, sewn together with every bit of love I had left to give.
The ceremony went off without a hitch, though Veronica seemed more focused on the photographers than on Ethan. When she walked down that aisle, her dress sparkled like a disco ball. Ethan looked nervous, happy, and terrified all at once… the way grooms do when they’re standing at the edge of the rest of their lives.
At the reception, they stuck me near the back with the other elderly relatives nobody knew what to do with. Most of the guests were from Veronica’s side. Her family dominated everything. The speeches, the toasts, even the seating chart had their fingerprints all over it.
Then came the gift presentation.
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