I was buried in spreadsheets and half-finished reports, my eyes strained from the glow of the monitor, my neck aching, and my fingers sore from typing the same document for the third time.
The office was quiet, wrapped in that eerie stillness that only creeps in after most people have gone home.
Outside, the evening sky had deepened into a rich indigo. Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed above me, adding to the tired weight bearing down on my shoulders.
Just as I reached for my coat, ready to finally end the day, the door creaked open. Michael—my boss—walked in.
Mid-50s, always put together like he’d just stepped out of a catalog, and eyes that seemed to see straight through you.
Without a word, he dropped a thick stack of papers on my desk.
“I need this finished tonight,” he said calmly. “I’ll need the final report by morning.”
I glanced at the clock—7:53 PM.
“Michael, I’ve been here since before nine,” I said, trying to keep my voice level.
He didn’t blink. “It needs to be done.”
As he turned to leave, he paused, like something else was on his mind. He opened his mouth, then just shook his head. “Never mind. Some other time.”
And he was gone.
I leaned back in my chair, heart pounding. Just six more months, I reminded myself. Just six more months, and I’d be out of here.
Later, in my car, the heater wheezed lukewarm air while I fumbled with my seatbelt. My phone rang.
“Alice!” Aunt Jenny chirped on the other end. “Don’t forget—you’re giving me a ride to the wedding!”
“What wedding?” I asked.
She laughed. “Oh, don’t play dumb—your mother’s big day!”
I froze. “Mom’s… getting married?”
“She didn’t tell you?” Jenny asked, voice dropping.
I hung up. And drove straight to Mom’s.
When she opened the door, there she was—wearing those worn pink slippers and her old cardigan that always smelled of lilac and tea. Everything about her was familiar, yet distant.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were getting married?” I asked, voice shaking.
She looked down. “I was going to. I just… didn’t know how.”
“Am I even invited?”
She hesitated.
Then shook her head. “It’s easier this way.”
“For whom?” My voice cracked.
She stepped aside, holding the door but not really opening it for me. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. I didn’t want to make things harder.”
“I’m not a child,” I snapped. “I’m your daughter.”
She looked at me then, her eyes full of something complicated—regret, sadness, maybe guilt.
I turned and walked away before she could see me cry. But I was sure of one thing—I’d be at that wedding, whether she liked it or not.
I needed to see who she was marrying. Who she thought was worth shutting me out.
A week later, I picked up Aunt Jenny, who was waving from the curb in a floral dress and floppy hat, chattering to the church about her new cat and her old car.
I barely heard her. My stomach churned with nerves.
And then I saw her—my mom—standing at the front in a soft cream dress. She looked beautiful and nervous. Then I saw the man standing next to her.
Michael.
My jaw dropped. “You’re marrying my boss?!”
Gasps echoed across the church. Mom didn’t flinch.
“This isn’t your place,” she said quietly.
“Not my place?” I hissed. “You knew how much I disliked him!”
Michael stepped forward, pale. “Maybe I should go.”
“No,” she whispered. But he was already walking out.
I followed and found him in the parking lot, standing near the edge, jacket flapping in the wind.
“Michael,” I called. He turned slowly.
“You were right,” he said. “I shouldn’t come between you and your mom.”
“No. I was wrong,” I replied.
He looked surprised.
“You overloaded me with work. I thought it was personal.”
“I saw your potential,” he said. “But I went about it the wrong way. I’m sorry.”
“I hated you for it,” I admitted.
He nodded. “Fair.”
“But I don’t get to choose who makes my mom happy,” I said. “That’s not my decision.”
“She didn’t invite you because she thought it would hurt you,” he murmured.
“She was trying to protect me.”
We stood in silence for a moment. Then I said, “She needs you.”
He gave a small nod, and together, we returned to the church.
The ceremony started late, but no one seemed to care. I sat beside Aunt Jenny, who squeezed my hand tightly.
Then the doors opened—and Michael walked in. My mom’s face lit up when she saw him. Her smile was brighter than any stained glass.
As they stood together, bathed in colored light from the windows, their love was undeniable.
During the vows, she spoke his name like a prayer.
When it was Michael’s turn, he looked straight at me.
“To Alice,” he said, “who makes me better.”
I held onto those words like a fragile gift.
Later, at the reception, under warm lanterns and the scent of home-cooked food, Mom pulled me into a hug.
“You okay with this?” she asked.
I nodded. “You deserve this.”
She kissed my forehead. “And so do you.”
Michael joined us, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. I didn’t move away.
That night, my mother got married. And instead of feeling left behind, I felt like I’d finally found her again.
