no! How dare you?!”
Because inside that box was not a gift.
It was every single thing she had thrown away.
PART 2
I didn’t know what Adele had put in the box.
She’d kept her “special welcome” a secret from everyone, even me, and I’d spent a week quietly terrified she was planning something she’d regret — something cruel, something that would make her the villain of her own wedding.
I should have trusted her more.
She’s my daughter. I raised her.
She’s better than that, and she proved it in front of 150 people.
Adele reached into the box and lifted out the first thing.
A birthday card.
“This is the card I got on my sixth birthday,” she said, her voice steady and clear, carrying across the silent hall. “It says ‘Love, Mom.’”
She held it up.
“Dad bought it. Dad wrote it. Dad signed your name, Mom,
