“I don’t want to. But I’m not letting you sabotage this. I pick him.”
I’d already lost my husband. I couldn’t lose her too.
So I swallowed everything.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
The wedding was beautiful—wood beams, fairy lights.
I sat in the front row while my daughter walked down the aisle.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Then the officiant said:
“If anyone knows of a reason—”
I stood before my brain caught up.
“I do.”
The room went silent.
“Mom,” she said, “sit down.”
“I can’t. Emily, you don’t know—”
“You are NOT doing this. You had months. You chose my wedding.”
“If you love me,” she said, voice shaking but steady,
“you will sit down and let me marry the man I chose.”
