THREE MONTHS LATER
Three months later, Sophie and Adrian married.
This time, the ceremony was small.
No invented family history.
No stories about European travel.
No wealthy parents.
No pretending.
Before Sophie walked down the aisle at St. Evermere Chapel, I met her in the dressing room.
I opened the velvet box.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“Mom…”
I took out my mother’s pearl locket.
“Turn around.”
She did.
I fastened it around her neck.
Sophie touched the pearls.
“I spent years trying to make my story sound better.”
I met her eyes in the mirror.
“You already had a good story.”
She swallowed.
“I know that now.”
Someone outside called that they were ready.
I started toward the chapel.
Sophie grabbed my hand.
“Not yet.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I’m not walking out there until you’re seated.”
Then she took my hand.
And led me into St. Evermere Chapel herself.
Three months earlier, I had hidden behind white roses in the last pew because my own daughter didn’t want anyone to see me.
This time—
Sophie refused to let the ceremony begin until I was sitting in the front row.
And when she finally walked toward Adrian, wearing the pearl locket passed from my mother to me and now to her—
she didn’t look embarrassed.
She looked proud.
Not because I had money.
Not because Adrian’s family admired me.
Not because anyone had discovered I once helped save a house from foreclosure.
She was finally proud of the story she had spent years trying to rewrite.
A mother who raised her alone.
One paycheck.
Packed lunches.
A small house in Bellmere.
No European summers.
No impressive connections.
No second kitchen.
Just love.
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