I Was Seated Alone at My Son’s Wedding — Then a Stranger Said ‘Act Like You’re With Me’

I felt 18 again and 68 simultaneously.

A dizzying combination that made me grateful for his steadying hand on my arm.

“Looking for me?” I managed.

“Or Theo, I got married. I had a son. I built a life.”

The accusation in my voice surprised even me.

“You left for that business program in London and never came back.”

His expression grew pained.

“I wrote you letters, Ellaner, dozens of them. I called your apartment for months. I even came back to Denver twice during those first two years.”

“But you’d moved, and no one would tell me where.”

He paused, studying my face.

“You never got any of my letters, did you?”

The pieces of a 50-year-old puzzle began falling into place with sickening clarity.

My mother, who had never approved of Theo because his family had money while ours decidedly did not.

My mother, who had always believed I was reaching above my station.

My mother, who had been suspiciously supportive when I started dating Robert just months after Theo left for Europe.

“She threw them away,” I said, the certainty of it settling in my stomach like a stone.

“My mother intercepted your letters.”

Theo’s jaw tightened.

“I suspected as much, but I could never prove it.”

“When I finally hired a private investigator to find you in 1978, you were already married and pregnant.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your life, so I stayed away.”

Brandon was born in 1989, which meant I’d already been married to Robert for 2 years by then.

The timing was cruel in its precision.

If Theo had found me just 2 years earlier, if my mother hadn’t interfered, if I’d known he was looking for me.