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.
In the corner, I embroidered their names in careful stitches: “Ethan & Veronica, bound by love.” I added a heart made from the lace of my old veil, the one Walter lifted on our wedding day with hands that shook from nerves and joy.
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.
I didn’t know they were doing this. A videographer walked around filming as Ethan and Veronica opened presents in front of everyone. Designer luggage, expensive china, and envelopes thick with cash. Each gift got applause and squeals of delight.
They saved mine for last.
Veronica lifted the box and smiled at the camera. “This one’s from Grandma Maggie!”
