On Friday afternoon, I met the new owners, a pleasant young couple, and handed them the spare set of keys.
We agreed that they would officially take possession of the property on Monday morning.
Friday night, David came into the kitchen while I was wiping down the counters. He looked exhausted, rubbing his temples.
“Big day tomorrow, Mom,” he murmured.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed, tossing the sponge into the sink. “A very big day. Things will change.”
“I know. Vanessa has been a little tense lately,” he added awkwardly, looking everywhere but at me. “But she’s a good person. We’re going to be a happy family.”
I looked at my son, feeling a quiet sorrow that I had long since accepted.
“People show you exactly who they are, David. You just have to be willing to look.”
Saturday was a beautiful, cloudless day.
The wedding venue was an upscale country club dripping with expensive floral arrangements and draped in white chiffon.
I drove myself to the ceremony, my car packed with my final two suitcases.
I parked near the exit.
During the ceremony, I sat in the front row. I watched Vanessa walk down the aisle, smiling brightly, playing the role of the perfect, blushing bride.
I watched David say his vows, promising to protect and cherish her.
I did not shed a single tear.
My emotional attachment to the situation had been severed weeks ago on my back patio.
The reception began at 6:00.
The ballroom was packed with guests drinking from the open bar and eating expensive horderves.
Vanessa was in her element, floating from table to table, soaking in the attention.
I sat quietly, quietly at the family table, eating my dinner and making polite conversation with Vanessa’s parents, who seemed just as entitled and loud as their daughter.