“A devoted mother should be allowed to speak on her daughter’s wedding day, shouldn’t she?”

My chair scraped against the floor as I moved to intervene, but Samantha was already rising, calm and unhurried, and I made myself sit back down and trust her.

Laura lifted the microphone.

“Samantha, my beautiful girl,” she began, her voice swelling to fill the room, “from the very day you were born, I dreamed of seeing you dressed in white like this.

And I want you all to know something.” She turned, taking in the whole reception, playing to every table.