Wendy made it clear from the start—my grandson Alex wasn’t welcome. Not at her wedding, not in her future home, and certainly not in the family she envisioned. My son Matthew, deeply in love, chose to ignore the signs. But I couldn’t. I stayed polite, smiled when needed, and waited for the right moment to show what had been overlooked.
I remember our first meeting. A trendy brunch café—concrete walls, fancy plating, and barely a trace of warmth. Wendy arrived late without apology, shook my hand instead of a hug, and talked non-stop about art galleries, minimalism, and home trends. She didn’t ask about me. She didn’t ask about Alex. She didn’t ask anything.
Matthew was captivated. I could see it in his eyes. But I also noticed how Wendy skillfully avoided his past—especially the mention of his 5-year-old son. Alex had been living with me since his mother passed. He was quiet, kind, and deeply loved. But to Wendy, he didn’t seem to fit.
When the engagement was announced, I asked, “Has she spent time with Alex?” Matthew brushed it off with, “She just needs time.” That was my first real concern.
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