My name is Corinne, and something that happened at my son’s wedding still weighs heavy on my heart. I raised Landon alone after his father left when he was just five. I worked multiple jobs, sacrificed everything, and poured all my love into giving him the best life I could. When he got engaged to Seraphine, I wanted so badly to be accepted, but she always kept me at arm’s length.
Three weeks before the wedding, the navy gown I had bought no longer fit after a medical procedure. I couldn’t afford tailoring or a new dress, so I pulled out the only other option I had—an antique ivory gown that once belonged to my late mother. It wasn’t pure white, but close enough to worry me.
I immediately called Landon, explained the situation, and even sent him photos. He reassured me: “Mom, it’s fine. It’s not a bridal dress. Don’t stress about Seraphine—I’ll tell her.” Trusting him, I wore it.
But on the wedding day, Seraphine humiliated me in front of everyone, accusing me of trying to upstage her. Guests whispered, and I felt all eyes on me. What hurt most wasn’t her words—it was Landon’s silence. He didn’t defend me, didn’t remind her he’d approved the dress. My son, whom I had sacrificed so much for, chose peace over me. That night, surrounded by celebration, I had never felt more alone.
