“Mama,” Noah asked loudly, pointing toward the altar, “is that the man getting married?”
A few guests choked on their champagne.
I smiled softly.
“We’re only here to observe, sweetheart. Keep walking.”
I completely ignored Table 27 near the kitchen entrance.
Instead, I walked directly to the front row — the section reserved exclusively for immediate family.
A trembling wedding coordinator rushed toward me.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, this area is reserved for close relatives only.”
I glanced down at my sons.
Then back at her.
