All I wanted was my daughter’s happiness. Or so I told myself—until the night I met her fiancé.
Kira brought Marcus home, his parents beside him. The moment I saw them, my smile froze. They were Black. Ugly thoughts I’d ignored for years surged forward. “How could you not tell us?” I hissed to Kira later. She crossed her arms. “Because this is exactly why.”
Dinner was agony. When Marcus’s mother asked if I supported them, I muttered about “challenges.” The hurt in Marcus’s eyes haunted me.
Strangely, his mother and I became coconspirators, nitpicking every wedding detail, convinced we knew better. But our “concern” only pushed Kira and Marcus away.
The breaking point came at the Thompsons’ house. “Stop trying to run our lives!” Kira yelled. Marcus held her hand. “We love each other. That’s all that matters.”
Their words left me hollow. Later, I lingered outside the rehearsal dinner, watching them through the window—so sure of their love. Mrs. Thompson joined me. “We have to make this right,” she whispered.
Trembling, I approached Kira. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled me into a hug. Marcus nodded stiffly, but it was a start.
On their wedding day, as they exchanged rings, I finally saw clearly: love isn’t about control. It’s about trust. And that day, I chose to trust them.
