I waited for Victor to say something.
My groom stood beside his mother in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, the same man who once cried while proposing to me, who kissed my father’s hands and called him “Dad.” His eyes moved briefly over my parents before returning to me. MotherhoodJourney Journal
“Don’t create a scene, Elena,” he murmured. “Mom’s right. Optics matter today.”
The chandeliers glittered overhead. The violinists continued playing. Somewhere behind me, the wedding planner whispered frantically into her headset.
I looked at my parents. My mother blinked rapidly. My father lowered his eyes.
And in that moment, something inside me turned cold.
Not shattered.
Cold.
Victor leaned closer. “Smile. We’re already running late.”
Celeste added smoothly, “And please don’t embarrass us. You’re fortunate my son agreed to marry someone from… your background.”
