It was supposed to be a flawless night.
Crystal chandeliers. A live string quartet. The kind of ballroom where everyone speaks softly because the room itself feels expensive.
My daughter Molly looked breathtaking in lace and silk, her hands trembling a little as she greeted guest after guest.
And then her new mother-in-law walked up with a gift bag.
Not a card.
Not jewelry.
A folded navy dress with a stiff white apron.
A housemaid uniform.
Molly stared at it like she couldn’t make her brain accept what her eyes were seeing.
Then my son-in-law smiled and said, loud enough for the room to hear:
