My stomach dropped so hard it felt like it hit the floor before the rest of me did.
I forced my voice to stay calm. “Okay. Then we’ll find another way. I can come early. Your uncle can help carry me up before the guests arrive. I can—”
He shook his head fast. Too fast.
“It’s not just the steps,” he blurted.
I stopped. “What do you mean?”
His cheeks flushed. He stared down at his hands.
“The chair,” he said. “It’s… bulky.”
I waited, because I couldn’t believe he’d say what his next words sounded like they were about to be.
Then he did.
“Jessica thinks it’ll be distracting,” he said. “An eyesore. In the pictures.”
For a moment, my ears rang.
Like my body was trying to protect my brain from understanding.
“So,” I said carefully, “you don’t want me there.”
His head snapped up. “Mom, don’t make this a disability thing.”
I actually laughed. One sharp, bitter sound.
“Liam,” I whispered, “this is a disability thing.”
He stepped forward, frustrated. “It’s just one day. Our day. Can’t you give me one perfect thing? It’s not like you’ll be missing much. We’ll send you photos. We can FaceTime.”
FaceTime.
Like I was a distant aunt who couldn’t travel, not his mother who raised him, who held him through fevers, who worked herself raw to keep him fed and safe and loved.
Then he said the sentence that split something in me so clean I almost heard it snap.
“And about the mother-son dance,” he added, eyes darting away again. “Jessica’s mom is going to do it with me.”
