I’ll never forget the first time I met Wendy.
Matthew, my son, had been raving about her for weeks—her career, her confidence, how she “made him better.” So when he invited me to join them for brunch, I said yes, eager to meet the woman who had captured his heart.
She arrived ten minutes late, flawless in a cream blazer, offering a polite handshake instead of a hug. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Matthew, of course, was enchanted. He hung on every word as she spoke of art galleries, intentional design, and plans for a minimalist home. But she never once asked about Alex—Matthew’s five-year-old son from his first marriage, my grandson. Alex had been living with me since his mother passed three years prior, a quiet, thoughtful boy who loved books and dinosaurs.
Wendy’s disregard for him sent a chill through me. Months later, Matthew announced they were getting married. My joy was tempered by a single question: Why hadn’t she spent time with Alex?
“She’s adjusting,” he said. “It’s a process.”
The first red flag. I should’ve pressed harder, but I didn’t want to upset him.
As the wedding approached, it became clear: Alex wasn’t part of any plans—no role in the ceremony, no family photos, not even a seat at the reception. When I asked Matthew, he said Wendy “wanted a more intimate event.”
Two weeks before the wedding, I invited her to tea. Maybe she needed to hear how much Alex meant to us.
She arrived looking flawless. When I gently asked about Alex’s role, she set down her teacup and smiled politely.
“Oh, well… it’s not really a kid-friendly event,” she said.
“A wedding isn’t a nightclub, Wendy. He’s five. And he’s Matthew’s son,” I replied.
“Exactly,” she said smoothly. “He’s Matthew’s son. Not mine.”
Her words were sharp, her composure unnerving. “Look, I don’t hate kids. I’m just not ready to be a stepmom. Matthew and I agreed Alex would keep living with you. It’s better for everyone.”
“It’s not better for Alex,” I said quietly.
She laughed—brittle and sharp. “He won’t even remember the wedding. I won’t compromise the photos or energy for a child I barely know.”
Something inside me hardened. I smiled politely, but I knew—I would not let her erase my grandson.
The stage was set, but what happened on the wedding day would reveal who truly belonged in the picture…
