I paid $19,000 for my son’s wedding because he told me it would be “the happiest day of his life.”
Venue. Band. Cake. Flowers. The open bar he swore was “non-negotiable.” Every time I hesitated, he’d say, “Mom, please. Just this once.” So I paid. I told myself it was what mothers do.
The reception was loud and bright and sticky with champagne. People kept clinking glasses, laughing too hard, posing for photos like nothing in the world could touch them.
Then my son stood up and tapped his glass.
I lifted my fork.
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