“You’re Not Invited to the Wedding,” Our Daughter Said – We Left and Canceled Everything.. My hands were trembling as I held the silver wrapped gift box. Behind me, my husband of 45 years stood frozen in his freshly pressed suit.
The words hit me like ice water poured down my back.
Mom, Dad, you’re not invited. This is my day.
Please leave. She had no idea we could cancel everything with a few phone calls.
By sunset, her perfect wedding would crumble around her, and she’d learn what happens when you throw away the parents who sacrificed everything for you.
“The venue contract has your name on it,” Richard whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief. I nodded silently, still staring at our daughter’s cold expression. “How could we have raised someone who would do this to us after everything we had given her?”
I remember checking my appearance one last time in the hallway mirror before we left for the wedding.
My hair was freshly styled, a splurge at $85 that I rarely allowed myself.
The pale blue dress had been carefully selected to complement the wedding colors without drawing attention. Richard adjusted his tie, the same one he’d worn to Olivia’s college graduation.
“Do I look okay?” I asked, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from my skirt. “Beautiful as always, Margaret,” he said, with that smile that still warmed me after all these years.
On the hallway table sat the silver wrapped box containing my mother’s necklace.
Three generations of Wilson women had worn it on their wedding days. I had cleaned and polished the antique silver and pearl pendant until it gleamed. I imagined Olivia’s face when she opened it, perhaps a rare moment of emotion from our increasingly distant daughter.
The drive to Lakeside Gardens was filled with light conversation and memories.
Remember when Olivia used to make us those construction paper cards? Richard chuckled.
the ones where she’d trace her hand to make a turkey at Thanksgiving and insist we display them on the fridge until they fell apart, I added, smiling at the memory of our little girl with pigtails and boundless enthusiasm. Where had that little girl gone?
When had she transformed into the woman who now barely returned our calls?
We arrived at the venue, the elegant garden estate that Richard and I had paid for from his retirement fund. $32,000 for the venue alone. The flowers, the catering, the photographer, the band, all bearing our signatures on the contracts.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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