I am Teresa, 58 years old. A simple woman, a market vendor, and the single mother of my son, Marco, who was about to marry the woman he loved—Lara, a young professional from a wealthy family.

Three months before the wedding, I found myself anxious every day—not about the venue, the flowers, or the guest list—but because I had nothing “new” to wear.

The Green Dress
I owned one dress for special occasions: a faded green gown, modestly embroidered at the chest. I wore it the day Marco was born. I wore it again when he graduated college. It had aged with me, just as he had grown with love and sacrifice.

I worried it was too old, too simple. I considered borrowing or buying something new—but nothing felt like me. So, I decided: I would wear my green dress.

For illustrative purpose only
The Wedding Day

The church shimmered with elegance. Guests sparkled in designer gowns and tailored suits. I felt painfully ordinary.

As I stepped inside, I noticed the whispers:
“Is that the groom’s mother?”