I never imagined I’d cry at my stepson’s wedding. “Only real moms sit up front,” his fiancée snapped, so I quietly took a seat in the back. But then Nathan turned, looked right at me, and said six words that shattered that rule.

He was six when we met—shy and hiding behind his dad. Richard had mentioned his son, but meeting Nathan sparked something in me. Wanting to connect, I brought him a paleontology book instead of a toy. He didn’t smile, but he accepted it—and later, I learned he slept with it under his pillow for weeks.

That was the beginning.

I never tried to replace his mom. I gave him space, stability, and love—on his terms. When Richard proposed six months later, I asked Nathan for permission too. We were baking cookies when I said, “Would it be okay if I married your dad and lived with you guys?”

Years passed. Now, at his wedding, I sat in the back—until Nathan stopped mid-aisle, turned, and said, “I want my real mom up front.”

Tears streamed down my face as he took my hand. I wasn’t just his stepmom. I was his mom.