But most of the main reception had been funded by me.
I’d agreed to help when Michael explained that their original wedding budget was falling short.
Then came the upgrades.
More guests.
Premium flowers.
A larger menu.
Additional entertainment.
Each time, he’d asked whether I could cover one more expense.
I’d never demanded recognition.
I didn’t want the guests making speeches about my generosity.
But I also hadn’t expected my son to misunderstand who was paying the bills.
“Michael, did you never look at the invoices?”
He lowered his eyes.
“Cassandra handled most of the planning.”
“And you signed off on the schedule?”
He glanced up.
“What schedule?”
I handed him the revised timeline.
He scanned it.
Then stopped.
*Mother-son dance removed at groom’s request.*
He swallowed.
“Cassandra said you weren’t comfortable dancing.”
I stared at him.
“She told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed her?”
He looked at the paper.
I continued.
“Michael, I bought shoes specifically for that dance. I asked you about the song three weeks ago.”
