Not Invited to My Son's Wedding

"The groom's family was really rich. They booked over 500 tables right from the start, and that still wasn't enough. They were even adding more tables."

"Exactly. The feast cost three thousand dollars per table, and the seafood was unlimited."

"Just a moment ago, the groom ordered over 30 thousand dollars worth of fresh flower petals to make the bride happy, having them scattered into the air. That's literally throwing money around. Not everyone could live like that."

Several servers gossiped animatedly nearby, but my blood ran cold as I stared blankly at the photos of the couple scrolling across the LED screen ahead. Wasn't that groom my son, Brandon Harrell?

Brandon was getting married, yet I, his own mom, had no idea at all.

Seeing me stand there in a daze without speaking, Beatrice Ford nudged my arm from beside me and frowned. "Why are you zoning out? Hurry up and wash the dishes. We won't have enough once the banquet starts. Get moving, or they'll dock your pay."

She sighed. "You're already retired at your age. Why don't you stay home and enjoy your monthly pension instead of coming out to do this exhausting, filthy work?"

"If you ask me, children should make their own way in life. You shouldn't spoil your son so much. If he wants a house and a car, he should earn the money himself. He shouldn't make you work so hard at your age."

Another coworker chimed in, "That's right, Nancy. When you first came here, anyone could tell from your hands that you'd done respectable work before. Look at them now. After washing dishes for two years, they're covered in chilblains. You've really suffered."

With my hands soaked in water every single day, chilblains inevitably formed and festered. They would heal, only to split open again after being soaked in water, repeating the same cycle over and over.

I forced myself back to my senses, my face pale as I managed a smile, but I couldn't bring myself to wash another dish from the towering pile before me.

I quietly headed toward the hall at the front, wanting to get closer for a clearer look. Maybe it was just someone who looked like Brandon. There was no way it could be him.

My phone's chat screen still showed the transfer record for the money I had sent Brandon this morning.

Brandon had written, "Mom, I'm treating an important friend to dinner today. Transfer me 30 thousand dollars. Also, stay at the staff dorm tonight and don't come home. I'm inviting my friend to stay over."

Brandon did have a girlfriend, but he had never mentioned getting married. If he were really getting married, how could he possibly keep it from me?

I searched around the banquet hall but didn't spot the groom anywhere. In the end, I walked to a quiet corner, took out my phone, and called Brandon. The line had barely rung before he hung up.

I had no choice but to call again, only for him to hang up on me once more. After I stubbornly placed the fifth call, he finally answered.

Before I could feel relieved, Brandon's impatient growl came through the phone, "Mom, you're so fucking annoying with these constant calls. If you've got something to say, make it quick. I'm busy!"

I gripped my phone tightly, unable to stop myself from asking, "Brandon, where are you? Are you done eating with your friend?

"Beatrice, who works with me, passed by a hotel today and saw a display sign featuring a groom who looks exactly like you. She even asked me if you were getting married. I told her there was no way it could be you."