He gave me a small nod.
But then Diane leaned closer and whispered something into his ear.
I didn’t catch what she said, but I watched the resolve drain out of Ethan’s face.
He looked at me uncertainly, then bent down and lifted his mother into his arms.
“Sorry, babe,” he murmured, avoiding my eyes. “She gets upset if I say no. You know how she is. I’ll carry you next, okay? Just… don’t make a scene.”
A few guests gasped.
Someone behind me whispered, “Oh my God.”
Diane immediately wrapped both arms around his neck, smiling as though she had just claimed a prize. Cameras flashed around us.
“Look at my son!” she called. “This is the man I raised!”
I stood by myself in my wedding dress, bouquet in hand, watching my husband carry another woman out of our ceremony.
My face burned so fiercely I thought I might faint.
I gripped the bouquet tighter, hoping it would keep my hands from shaking. My throat closed up, and my heart felt as if it had split cleanly in two.
I remember thinking with awful clarity, This will be the one moment from my wedding day that I remember forever. I am never going to get over this.
Then I felt a gentle touch on my veil near my shoulder.
My mother.
Mom looked at me with an expression that said everything words never could.
In that instant, my shock broke, and tears gathered in my eyes. A sob slipped out before I bit down on my lip. The last thing I wanted was for Diane to know she had succeeded in making me cry.
My mother reached up, brushed my cheek softly, and straightened my veil. Then she turned toward the congregation.
Her expression hardened into steel.
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