My biological mother left my dad and me when I was a baby, choosing her boyfriend over us. My dad worked tirelessly to keep us afloat.
When I was eight, Nora came into our lives. She didn’t try to replace anyone — she just stayed. Helped with homework, cheered at games, comforted me in the ER. Slowly, without fanfare, she became my mom.
Years later, I asked her to dance with me at my wedding. She said yes, tears in her eyes. On the day, as we stepped onto the floor, Heather — my biological mother — stormed in, demanding, “I’m his mom! Step aside.”
Nora stayed calm. Guests whispered. Then my father-in-law stepped up, confronting Heather. She had no excuse.
I turned to Nora. “You’re my mother. You always have been.” We danced. The music played. The room erupted in applause. My real mom had chosen me every day — and I got to honor that.