“I saw this announcement last month,” he explained. “It mentioned that the groom’s mother, Eleanor Patterson, was a retired educator who had taught English literature at East High School for thirty-seven years. I knew it was you immediately. After all these years of searching, dead ends and wrong leads and almosts, I found you in the wedding announcements section of the Sunday paper.”
The irony was almost funny. “So you came to crash a wedding?”
“I came to see you,” he corrected gently. “I was planning to sit in the back, watch you be proud of your son, and maybe work up the courage to approach you afterward and reintroduce myself. But when I arrived and saw how they were treating you, saw them seat you like you were nobody important…” His eyes blazed with protective anger. “Well, I couldn’t just sit there and watch that happen to you.”
Before I could respond, we heard Brandon’s voice behind us, sharp with barely controlled panic.
“Mother, we need to talk. Right now.”
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