Wendy made it clear from the start that my grandson Alex wasn’t part of her plans. She didn’t invite him to her wedding, never asked about him, and treated him as though he didn’t exist. My son Matthew tried to excuse her behavior, saying she just needed time, but I knew better.
Alex, only five years old, had lived with me since his mother passed, and he deserved to feel loved and included. I stayed polite, smiling through clenched teeth, while quietly preparing to reveal Wendy’s true nature.
On the wedding day, I dressed Alex in a tiny suit and brought him with me. His face lit up with excitement as he held a small bouquet, eager to give it to Wendy. When she saw him, her expression hardened. Pulling me aside, she said sharply, “He’s not supposed to be here. This is my day.” I calmly replied that this was also Matthew’s day and, more importantly, Alex’s family. Her response was chilling: “He’s not my child. I don’t want him in any photos.” I didn’t argue. I just smiled, knowing the moment of truth was coming.
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