When my former wife invited me to attend her wedding, I immediately understood why she wanted our son present. What I never anticipated was how determined I would become to stop her from embarrassing us once again, or that the woman I paid to play a role for one evening would see through everything the moment we stepped inside.
The instant Monica’s text appeared on my phone, my lungs seemed to stop working.
I was in the kitchen washing spaghetti sauce from a plate while my ten-year-old son, Liam, sat nearby with his homework spread across the table. My phone vibrated again. Her name remained on the screen, bright and unpleasant.
I opened the message.
“I’d like to invite you to my wedding. Bring our son with you. It would mean a lot if we could show everyone there’s no bad blood. How will I look in front of my fiancé’s family if my own son isn’t there with me, right?”
I read the words twice.
There it was.
The actual reason.
Not Liam.
Not me.
How will I look.
Liam glanced up from his math assignment.
“Was that Mom?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“What does she want?”
“She wants us at her wedding.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because she wants to look good in front of people,” I said.
He lowered his eyes to his worksheet again.
“That’s dumb.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “It is.”
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