I worked extra shifts.
I learned how to make braids.
I learned which daughter needed to be hugged, which one needed silence, and which one I needed me not to have heard her cry behind the bathroom door.
I never missed a school play.
I never missed a meeting with teachers.
I never missed a birthday.
I stayed.
And now Natalie, my oldest daughter, was getting married.
When I told him Monica wanted to come, I was expecting anger.
Instead, Natalie read the message carefully, left my phone back on the counter and smiled in a way that squeezed my chest.
“Tell him he can come,” he said.
“Natalie, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know,” he replied. “But if Mom wants to be seen, then we’ll make sure everyone sees her clearly.”
On the wedding day, Monica arrived in a bright champagne dress, diamonds around her neck, Adrian’s arm and her elegant family walking behind them as if they had always belonged there.
