“Emily, Emily!” her mother’s voice came from the doorway.
“What is it now?” Emily snapped. “Oh, it’s just the maid. Let me see what she wants.”
Her mother stepped in, smiling warmly.
“My little girl… today’s your wedding photoshoot! I wanted to be there with you to meet your fiancé. I even wore the dress your grandmother gave me.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed.
“That old thing? You look like you’re on your way to the market, Mom.”
“What’s wrong with that?” her mother asked softly. “I just wanted to be by your side.”
“Don’t call me daughter,” Emily hissed. “Omar comes from an elegant family. I need to meet his standards. You’ll only embarrass me. Please, leave.”
Her mother’s face fell.
“I just wanted to see you happy.”
“Go,” Emily said firmly, turning to the photographer. “We can continue now.”
A few days later, her mother appeared again, carrying envelopes.
“These are the payments for the reception and the hall,” she said gently. “Everything’s so expensive, Emily. How will you afford it?”
“Mom, it’s my wedding. Don’t start,” Emily replied sharply. “You should be grateful I’m letting you help.”
“You want my money,” her mother said quietly, “but you’re ashamed of me. How did we end up like this?”
That night, Emily vented to her best friend.
“Are you seriously going to hide your mother?” her friend asked, stunned.
“I’m not hiding her,” Emily insisted.
“I’m protecting my image. Omar’s family would never accept that my mother is Indigenous.”
“Emily, that’s awful,” her friend said, shaking her head. “I can’t be part of this.”
“Then I’ll handle it myself,” Emily said coldly.
Days later, she hired an actress named Marina to pose as her mother at the wedding.
“You’ll say you’re a widow, a successful businesswoman who lived in Europe,” Emily instructed.
Marina frowned. “You shouldn’t start a marriage with lies, Emily.”
“I’m paying you well. Do you accept or not?”
Marina sighed. “Fine. But you’re playing with fire.”
At the rehearsal dinner, fate intervened. Omar opened the door and there stood Citlali, Emily’s real mother, holding a freshly pressed shirt.
“Hello, young man,” she greeted kindly. “I brought your wedding shirt.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. Her mother and Marina were face-to-face.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“I just wanted to bring this to you, daughter,” Citlali replied softly.
Confused, Omar welcomed them in. Marina extended her hand gracefully.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Emily’s mother—just returned from Europe.”
Citlali hesitated but smiled. “The pleasure’s mine.”
When Emily pushed her mother aside, Citlali whispered, “I can’t believe you’d deny me like this. I gave you everything.”
“You’re not part of my life anymore,” Emily said, turning away.
During dinner, Omar spoke thoughtfully.
“I met a woman at the dry cleaners today,” he said. “She told me her daughter was ashamed of her because of her skin color. I can’t imagine that kind of pain.”
Emily froze. Marina looked down, guilt in her eyes.
Days later, Emily received a letter.
“My dear daughter, I remember when you wanted us to dress alike. Now it hurts to know you’re ashamed of me. One day, you’ll understand that no love runs deeper than a mother’s.”
On the wedding day, Citlali arrived quietly, dressed simply.
“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” she said calmly. “I came to remind you who you are.”
“You don’t belong in the life I’m building,” Emily answered coldly.
“Maybe not,” her mother said. “But I’m your mother. And if you reject me, I must let you go too.”
She pressed a letter into Emily’s hand and left.
During the ceremony, the priest smiled.
“Emily, do you take Omar as your husband?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, voice trembling.
“And you, Omar?”
He hesitated. “No.”
The room went silent.
“I can’t marry someone who rejects her roots,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry.”
Marina stepped forward. “It’s true. I’m not her mother. I was hired to pretend.”
Emily collapsed to her knees, tears spilling as her world fell apart.
Weeks later, she returned to the dry cleaners.
“Mom,” she muttered, “I lost everything. I was wrong. Please forgive me.”
Citlali embraced her gently. “I’ll always love you, daughter. But now you must earn back my respect.”
Time passed. Mother and daughter began working side by side again. Emily helped fold clothes, smiling without shame.
“You look lovely in that dress,” Citlali said.
Emily smiled through her tears.
“Now I understand that nothing is worth more than love and dignity. A daughter without her mother is like a tree without roots. And I don’t want to wither again.”
