At Our Wedding,My Son Called The Groom “Uncle”

Chapter 2

Sophia's POV:

The doors to the banquet hall opened, and the two boys stepped forward with the music.

Chase remembered every movement. Evan kept his head down the whole way. Halfway down the aisle, a guest laughed offhandedly, "That kid's so close to the groom. Anyone would think he's his son too."

Evan burst into tears. "Why does Chase have a dad and I don't?"

Mike walked down from the end of the aisle without a moment's hesitation. He passed Chase without stopping and scooped Evan up. "Evan, don't cry. I'm here."

"Mike." I stopped him. "Let Viola take him to the lounge. Let's finish the entrance."

"He only wants me right now. Give me ten minutes."

He told the officiant to pause the ceremony and carried Evan out.

The music cut off. Chase stood in the middle of the petal-strewn aisle, his hands still frozen in the scattering motion.

Mike was supposed to be standing at the end, waiting for me. Chase was supposed to be walking toward his father. Now, all that was left between us was an aisle we hadn't finished.

Murmurs rose from the guest seats. Someone asked who Viola was; someone praised Mike for being so responsible, so good even to a friend's child. No one asked how Chase, standing alone in the aisle, was supposed to feel.

"Is Daddy going to keep Evan company first?" Chase asked.

Before I could answer, he'd already found a reason for his father. "Because Evan doesn't have a dad, right? Then I'll wait."

Mike was inside for seventeen minutes, and Chase waited at the door for seventeen minutes. He wouldn't hand his basket to the staff. "When Daddy comes back, he still needs to watch me scatter the flowers."

The door finally opened. Evan had stopped crying. Viola offered to take him and leave first, but Mike said, "If he leaves now, he'll only feel like he's being sent away. We can just restart the wedding."

As if what had been interrupted was only a piece of music that could be replayed.

He walked over to Chase. "Let's walk it again."

Chase's eyes lit up. "Is Daddy walking with me?"

But Mike took Evan's hand. "He's still a little scared. I'll walk with him first. You follow behind and scatter the flowers."

I stepped in front of him. "Chase has already waited seventeen minutes. Can Evan sit down first?"

"Sophia, don't be so petty."

The wedding, the guests, his own son's waiting—all of it came down to two words in his mouth: petty.

The music started a second time. Mike walked in front, holding Evan's hand. Chase followed alone behind them.

Guests whispered. "The one in the back is the real son, isn't he? Why does he look like an extra?"

Chase heard every word. He walked slower and slower, and halfway down, he even forgot to scatter the flowers.

I watched Mike patiently match Evan's pace. That hand was the one Chase had waited so long for and never gotten.

When the flower-boy procession ended, Mike finally returned to the end of the aisle and reached out to me across the long path of petals.

It was the moment I'd waited seven years for.

I took Chase's hand and walked to the middle of the aisle. Behind me, glass shattered. Evan reached for a piece and cut his fingertip, a thin line of blood.

Viola was right there, and the hotel medic arrived at once. "It's not deep. We'll disinfect and bandage it."

I kept walking.

One step. Two.

If I could just reach Mike, this wedding would be done.

But he pulled his hand back. "I'm going to take a look."

"Viola and the medic are both there. She can handle it."

He passed me with only one line. "It's just a small cut. I'll take one look and come back. Wait for me."

I stood in the middle of the entire aisle in my wedding gown.

The first time, I said no, and he didn't listen. The second time, he called me petty. The third time, I'd already spoken, and he still chose to walk past me.

It wasn't that he hadn't heard.

It was that he'd heard, and still chose the other woman and her child.

Chase circled around the crowd and took my hand. "Mom, are we in the way?"

I crouched and held him tight. "No. Chase isn't in anyone's way."

The officiant asked carefully, "Should we go back and touch up your makeup, and restart once Mr. Wilson has handled things?"

Restart.

Today, everyone made the word sound so easy.

In a little while, Mike would come back too, say "Sorry to keep you waiting," and then ask, "Can we walk it again?" For seven years, he'd always done the same thing—turned my disappointment into some small thing I shouldn't be petty about.

I looked at Mike, bending over Evan's bandaged fingertip, blowing on it gently.

And suddenly, I didn't want to wait anymore.