Three months later, Lauren and Ethan married.
This time, the ceremony was small.
No imaginary wealthy family history.
No pretending.
No hiding.
Before Lauren walked down the aisle, I opened the velvet box.
Her eyes immediately filled with tears.
“Will you?” she asked.
She turned around.
I fastened my mother’s pearl locket around her neck.
Lauren touched it gently.
“I spent years trying to make my story sound better.”
I looked at her reflection.
“You already had a good story.”
Someone called from the chapel.
They were ready.
Lauren took my hand.
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“I’m not walking down that aisle until you’re sitting in your seat.”
She personally walked me into the chapel.
Three months earlier, I had hidden behind white roses in the final pew because my daughter was ashamed for anyone to know I was her mother.
This time, Lauren refused to let the ceremony begin until I was seated in the front row.
