I nearly fainted when I opened the gift from my future daughter-in-law.
A white dress. For her wedding.
Anita and I had clashed from the start. She was bold, modern, and—frankly—not who I’d imagined for my son. When she excluded me from wedding planning, I assumed the worst.
Now this? White?
“She’s trying to humiliate me,” I told my sister.
But Anita insisted it was a gesture of respect. Hesitantly, I agreed to wear it.
The wedding day arrived. My hands shook as I stepped into the venue—and froze.
Instead of a traditional Western wedding, the room was alive with color. Anita stood radiant in a crimson lehenga, gold jewelry glinting. Guests wore vibrant hues, flowers everywhere.
And me? The only one in white.
Anita’s uncle approached, beaming. “How kind of you to honor our customs!”
I finally understood. In her culture, white wasn’t for brides—it was for mothers, symbolizing purity and new bonds.
That night, I hugged Anita tightly. “Thank you for making me part of this.”
She smiled. “You were always part of it, Margaret.”
Sometimes, the biggest misunderstandings lead to the most beautiful beginnings.
