From the moment I met Wendy, I sensed something was off. She was polished and confident, but she never once asked about Alex, my 5-year-old grandson. When my son Matthew announced their wedding, I noticed Alex’s name missing from the plans. That was my first warning.

Two weeks before the wedding, I asked Wendy about Alex’s role. She smiled coldly and said, “Exactly, he’s Matthew’s son, not mine.” On the big day, I dressed Alex in his little gray suit anyway. When Wendy saw him, her face hardened. She hissed, “Why is he here? He’s not supposed to be in the photos.” But I had a plan. I’d hired a secret photographer to capture every moment—especially the ones Wendy wanted to erase.

During my toast, I raised my glass and said, “Families aren’t edited like photo albums. When you marry a man, you marry his whole life.” The silence that followed was deafening.

Weeks later, I gave Matthew the photos. His face turned pale as he whispered, “She hates my son.” By the end of the month, they divorced. Matthew and Alex now share a home full of love, laughter, and second chances.