It’s been three days since my wedding to David, and I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right. That maybe I made a mistake — not in marrying David, but in how I handled everything else.

I met David two years ago at a support group meeting. I was there trying to put my life back together after a series of terrible relationships. David rolled in (quite literally, in his wheelchair), and something just clicked.

He had this quiet strength about him, you know? The kind that makes you feel safe just being near it.

“You look like you could use a friend,” he’d said, parking his chair next to me. His smile was warm and genuine. “I’m David.”

That day, he told me about the accident that took his mother’s life and left him paralyzed from the waist down. But he didn’t tell it like a sad story, more like a chapter in a bigger book.

“Life’s about adapting,” he’d said with a shrug. “Sometimes you just have to find a different way to dance.”

However, my mother, Carla, wasn’t thrilled when I told her about David.

She didn’t say anything outright — oh no, that’s not her style. Instead, it was all subtle digs and backhanded compliments.

“Oh, honey, it’s so noble of you to take care of him,” she’d say as if David was some burden I’d chosen to bear rather than the man I loved.

As the wedding drew closer, her comments became worse.

She demanded to know if David could support me and if he was physically able to father children. Yeah, she really asked for details about our sex life.

I tried to ignore it or brush her off, but that only seemed to aggravate the situation.

She came over to help with preparations two weeks before the big day. While David was in the kitchen making coffee, she leaned in close to me, whispering, “Are you sure about this, Amanda? There’s still time to change your mind. Nobody would blame you.”

I pulled away like she’d burned me. “Mom, stop it, already! I love David.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “I’m just looking out for you, sweetheart. That’s what mothers do.”

The wedding ceremony itself was beautiful. I’ll never forget the look on David’s face as I walked down the aisle to him. We said our vows, his voice steady and sure, mine trembling with emotion.

When he promised to be my partner in all of life’s adventures, big and small, I actually heard my mother scoff. But I was determined not to let her ruin this moment.

Then came the reception. And the gift.

My mother made such a production of presenting this beautiful box wrapped in silver paper with a big white bow.

“I picked this out especially for you, David,” she announced, loud enough for nearby guests to hear.

David thanked her, always so polite. As he unwrapped it, I saw my mother’s eyes. There was something there, something that made my stomach twist into knots.

The paper fell away to reveal a shoebox. Her gift was a pair of top-of-the-line running shoes.

For a moment, everyone was silent. David stared at the box, his face unreadable. Then my mother laughed, this high, brittle sound that set my teeth on edge.

“You never know when you might want to run, right?” She looked around, seeking validation from the shocked faces of our guests. “Oh, come on, it’s just a joke!”

And that’s when I saw red.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” My voice came out louder than I intended, shaking with anger.

My mother’s face went from faux-innocent to defensive in a heartbeat. “Amanda, really. You’re overreacting. It was just a little joke to lighten the mood.”

“Lighten the mood?” I stood up so fast that my chair nearly toppled over. “By mocking my husband’s disability? On our wedding day?”

“Mandy, sweetheart—” David reached for my hand, but I was beyond calming down.

“No, David. I’m done! This is not okay.” I turned back to my mother. “All the cruel jibes and rude remarks were one thing, but now you’ve crossed the line. Get out. Now!”

Her mouth fell open. “You can’t be serious. I’m your mother!”

“And he’s my husband. If you can’t respect that, you don’t belong here.”

She gathered her purse, her face twisted with anger. “You’ll regret this, Amanda. Mark my words.”

At the time, I thought she was taking another stab at my marriage… if only I’d realized her words were a threat.

The rest of the reception passed in a blur. David kept telling me it was okay, that he wasn’t upset, but I saw how the light had gone out of his eyes.

Now, three days later, my phone buzzed. It was my mother.

“Amanda? Can we talk? I’d like to make things right.”

My stomach churned as I stared at her name on the screen. David noticed my hesitation from across the room and frowned quizzically.

“It’s Mom,” I told him.

“You don’t have to call her back,” he whispered after I’d shown him the message, “but… she’s still your mom. If my mom were still alive…”

David’s voice trailed off, and I sighed. He’s always been the peacemaker, even when peace comes at his expense.

He looked over my shoulder with a soft smile as I texted Mom, asking her to meet me at our usual café.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” he said, squeezing my hand gently.

I wish I hadn’t listened to him.

I arrived at the café early, claiming our regular table by the window. Mom showed up exactly on time, and her makeup was perfect as always. There’s something different about her. She seems… smaller somehow. Less sure of herself.

“Amanda,” she breathed, and for a moment, I saw genuine relief in her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

She launched into her apology immediately.

“I never meant to hurt David. Or you. The shoes were… inexcusable,” she admits, her voice catching. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Seeing you so happy, so grown up — I guess I felt like I was losing you.”

Tears fell down her face like twin waterfalls, and her hands trembled as she dabbed them away. I wanted to believe her, but why does it feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?

She reached across the table, her manicured fingers brushing mine. “Can you forgive me?”

I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. A text from my aunt Karen. I ignored it.

“Mom, I—” The phone buzzed again. And again. “Let me just check these messages. It seems urgent.”

“Sure,” my mother said, a flicker of something — anxiety? — crossing her face.

I finally checked my phone, and my blood ran cold.

“Amanda, you need to know something. Your mother’s been planning this for months. She told me the shoes would be the final straw, that you’d realize you were ‘settling’ and call off the wedding. She never meant to reconcile today. There’s more. Call me. Be careful.”

My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone. When I looked up, my mother’s expression had changed. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by something calculating, almost predatory.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes sharp as glass.

I stared at my phone, then at her, my thoughts racing. What game was she playing? What else could she have planned?

“I… I need to use the restroom,” I managed to say, standing on unsteady legs.

In the bathroom, I called Aunt Karen. Her words came in a rush:

“She’s been talking to lawyers, Amanda. Looking into ways to have the marriage annulled. She thinks if she can prove you were under ’emotional duress’ when you said yes…”

I peeked out as my mom rose from her seat and left. Through the window, I watched my mother walk to her car, her heels clicking against the pavement with precision and purpose. She didn’t look back.

I thought about David waiting at home, probably worried about how this meeting was going. David believed in second chances and saw the best in everyone, even my mother.

David, who didn’t yet know he’d married into a family where love came with conditions and apologies was just another form of attack.

The thing about mothers is that they’re supposed to protect you. But sometimes, the person you need protection from is the one who should have been protecting you all along.

I don’t know what comes next. But I do know one thing: David and I, we’ll face it together. After all, life’s about adapting, right?

Sometimes, you just have to find a different way to dance. And sometimes, you have to know when to stop the music altogether.