Her gaze intensified, a protective fire burning within. “James is our son, and he’s lying here, injured and in pain. This is not the time to think about the wedding. It’s time to think about him and his recovery!”

The shock of her words hung in the air, enveloping us in a moment of heavy silence. My father, ever the imposing figure, seemed to shrink before her conviction. I watched him process her unexpected defiance, his anger slowly giving way to confusion and an unsettling vulnerability.

“But the wedding—” he began, his voice softer now, stripped of its previous fury.