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

Quiet at first. A few chuckles from the people nearest to the stage, then louder, more confident, like permission had been granted to mock the woman in the cheap dress sitting at table 36. Rebecca, the bride, my future daughter-in-law, let out a laugh.

Not a nervous one. Not the kind that slips out before you can stop it. No, it was genuine.

Like she’d been waiting for this moment, like humiliating me was part of the evening’s entertainment. My son Andrew stood beside her in his tuxedo. He heard it.

I know he did, because our eyes met across the ballroom. I waited for him to say something, to step forward, to tell Charles that wasn’t acceptable, that I was his mother and I deserved respect. But he didn’t.