We walked into the dining room together, but the moment I stepped in, my stomach twisted.
Standing near the table was a man about my age, with dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and a confident posture. I glanced at my mom, who kept smiling as if everything was perfectly normal.
She looked between me and him, waiting for my reaction. But I was speechless, frozen in place.
“Are you kidding me?!” My voice came out louder than I intended. “Is this some kind of joke?!”
“Casey, this is not a joke,” Mom said calmly. “Aaron and I are dating.”
I turned to him, my anger flaring. “Why are you with her? Is it for the money?”
“Casey!” My mom gasped.
Ignoring her, I clenched my fists. “You two need to break up!”
Mom’s expression hardened. “We’re not breaking up!” she declared. “Aaron proposed, and we’re getting married in two months!”
Aaron’s jaw tightened. “Casey, I assure you, I don’t care about your mom’s money. I love her.”
Mom exhaled, clearly exhausted. “I’m done with all this yelling. Either you calm down and join us for dinner, or you can leave.”
“Great!” I shot back. “If a random guy is more important to you than your daughter, then I’m leaving!”
For days, I struggled to accept that my mother was engaged to someone my age.
I lay awake at night, replaying the dinner in my head.
Eventually, I called her, pretending to make peace. “I overreacted,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. “I want to fix things. If Aaron makes you happy, I’ll support you.”
She was overjoyed. “That means the world to me, Casey!” she said. “I want you to be part of this. Let’s plan the wedding together.”
So, I attended dress fittings, sampled cakes, and helped with decorations. But deep down, I still doubted Aaron.
A few days before the wedding, I realized I had nothing concrete against him. I had searched for flaws, but found nothing. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe he truly loved my mom.
That evening, I took a deep breath and faced her. “I accept Aaron and fully support you,” I told her. “Now it’s official.”
On the wedding day, as we rushed to the venue, Mom suddenly gasped. “Oh no! I left my phone at home!”
I volunteered to retrieve it. Back at the house, I searched every room. No phone. Then I noticed a locked drawer near her desk. On impulse, I yanked it open.
Papers spilled onto the floor.
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