The morning unfolded slowly, each moment a tug between the past and the present. I leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling a mug of coffee I felt too weary to drink. My thoughts drifted back to the wedding, a day meant for joy, but marred by the echo of words spoken with a smile that cut deeper than any frown.
When I arrived at the wedding, I was brimming with pride for my son, eager to celebrate this new chapter in his life. Yet, as the evening progressed, I found myself seated alone at a distant table, watching as everyone around me was served, and I was left waiting. It was a small slight, but a slight nonetheless, made larger by the laughter that followed his careless words.
“She’s used to leftovers. She’ll manage.”
