My ex-husband has been remarried for eight years, and I’ve never gotten along with his wife.
When our 18-year-old son graduated, I asked him not to invite her. I didn’t think she belonged at such a meaningful event for my child.
He agreed, and I thought everything was fine—until after the ceremony, when he quietly said, “You have no idea how much that hurt me.”
His words cut through the noise of the celebration. I looked at him and suddenly saw something deeper in his expression. He wasn’t just upset about the graduation.
“What do you mean?” I asked gently.
He gave me a strained smile. “Mom… she’s been in my life a long time. You don’t have to like her, but asking me to leave her out—especially today—wasn’t fair.”
I wanted to argue that I did it for his sake. But I knew, deep down, that wasn’t the truth.
It wasn’t about peace. It was about power.
When my ex, Colin, left me for Dina, I swore I’d never let her into our world. She always came off condescending, always had a subtle jab hidden in her compliments.
Once, when Dax was 14, she told me at a game, “You’ve done a great job. I’m just glad I’ve been able to fill in the gaps.” I had to bite my tongue.
But standing there, surrounded by proud parents and balloons, I saw my son differently—not as my child, but as a young adult asking for respect. He didn’t need me to embrace her. He needed me to honor his relationships.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. His face kept replaying in my mind.
The next morning, I texted him:
“Lunch today? Just us. My treat. No strings.”
He replied quickly: “Sure. Noon?”
We met at the burger place we used to go after his games. He looked a little drained but calm.
“Dax,” I said, “I owe you an apology.”
He looked surprised.
“I let my feelings about Dina influence how I treated you. That wasn’t fair, especially on such an important day. You didn’t deserve that.”
He blinked a few times, clearly taken aback. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”
I paused before asking something I’d never dared to before:
“Do you…”