that she’d stay home and let the day pass quietly. But on the morning of the wedding, a knock echoed through her house. When she opened the door, Ethan stood there—suit half-on, tie in his hand, eyes rimmed red. “I can’t do it,” he said. “Not like this.” He had called off Sandra’s carefully crafted wedding. With help from his younger brother, Daniel, and his fiancée Clara, they pulled together a new ceremony—one that felt real,
one that felt like family. And they couldn’t imagine it without Claire at the center of it. “You showed up every day,” Ethan said, voice shaking. “Not because you had to—but because you loved us. You’re my mom.” That afternoon, Claire walked into a garden filled with love. She didn’t take her seat as a guest. She sat in the front row—where she had always belonged—not just honored, but finally seen. She was not just part of the family. She was family.