Two days ago, I was trying on my wedding dress during the final fitting.
It was perfect—exactly how I had dreamed it since I was a little girl.
Mom was supposed to come with me. She promised.
But she never showed up.
Instead, she sent a message:
“Sorry, I can’t make it. We’re short-staffed. Good luck with the dress.”
I stared at my phone.
Then at my reflection in the mirror.
My makeup was perfect. The dress fit like magic.
But something inside me cracked.
Every other bride there had someone. A sister. A best friend. Their mom.
I stood there alone, holding back tears—until I couldn’t anymore.
The consultant quietly handed me a tissue and whispered,
“It’s okay to cry. This day still belongs to you.”
I went home. Silent. Numb.
Later that night, I got a call from my grandmother.
She said, “Honey, your mom didn’t forget. She just doesn’t know how to show up. But you—you’re showing up for yourself. That’s powerful.”
And maybe she was right.
Because despite everything,
I picked the dress. And it’s the one.
Not just the one I’ll wear when I say “I do” —
but the one that made me realize:
I’m stronger than I ever thought.
