At the wedding, I raised a toast: “To Wendy. May she learn families aren’t edited like albums. They come with history, with love, with children who just want to belong.” She went pale. Later, Alex hugged her, chirping, “I’m so happy you’ll be my new mommy!” She forced a smile, but I saw the disgust in her eyes.
Weeks later, the photos revealed it all—her sneers, her flinches, her fake smiles whenever my grandson reached out. I bound those moments in an album and gave it to Matthew. By the last page, his face was ashen. “She hates him,” he whispered. They divorced within weeks. Sometimes the camera saves more than memories—it saves children.
