“At my son’s wedding, you pointed at me in front o…

Women in silk gowns glanced at me, then whispered to each other. Men in tailored suits looked me up and down like they were trying to figure out who I was and why I was there. I told myself it didn’t matter.

I told myself I was there for my son, Andrew. That his happiness was all that mattered, that the seat number and the whispers and the looks meant nothing as long as he was smiling. But it did matter.

Because as the night went on, the whispers got louder. Three women at the table next to mine didn’t even bother lowering their voices. “She looks like she took the bus here,” one of them said, adjusting the diamond bracelet on her wrist.

“That’s his mom? Seriously?” another added, sipping champagne like the words didn’t cut through the air like glass. “No wonder she’s sitting back there,” the third one laughed.