I first met Nathan when he was six years old, wide-eyed and shy, peering out from behind his father’s leg on our third date.
Richard had told me he had a son, but meeting this small, cautious boy in person stirred something deep in me.
‘This is Victoria,’ Richard said softly. ‘She’s the woman I told you about.’
I sat down and smiled at him. “Hi, Nathan. Your dad said you’re into dinosaurs. I brought you something.” I handed him a gift bag with a palaeontology book inside.
Richard later told me that Nathan had kept the book under his pillow for weeks.
Just for an example.
When Richard proposed six months later, I made sure to ask Nathan’s permission before saying ‘yes’.
By the time we were married, Nathan’s mother had been dead for two years. I never tried to replace her. I simply found my place in Nathan’s life.
Richard and I never had children together.
We thought about it, but never decided – it wasn’t the right time. But the truth is that Nathan brought so much life and love into our home that we didn’t feel his absence.
When Richard died suddenly of a stroke five years ago, our world came crashing down. He was only 53 years old. Nathan had just been accepted into college. I will never forget the look in his eyes when I told him that.
Later, he asked quietly: ‘What happens now?’. What he really wanted to say was, “Will you still be here? Are we still family?
And the answer was yes. Always yes.
I supported him in his grief, even as I faced my own. I paid his way through college, sat proudly at his graduation, and helped him pick out clothes for his first real job.
Everything his father would have done, I did.
At graduation, he handed me a small box.
Inside was a silver necklace with the word ‘Strength’ engraved on it. I wore it every day after that. Including on his wedding day.
The ceremony was held in a beautiful vineyard, elegant and full of light. I arrived early and quietly, dressed in my best and carrying Nathan’s necklace.
Just for show.
I had already met his fiancée, Melissa. She was sweet, smart, well-mannered, with a close-knit family who hosted Sunday dinners and lived nearby. Two married parents, three local siblings. The perfect family.
As I took my seat, Melissa approached me. Her voice was soft, her facial expression pleasant, but her words pierced to the core.
‘Just so you know,’ she said with a rehearsed smile, “the front row is for birth mothers only. I hope you understand.”
I wasn’t prepared for this. But I pulled myself together.
‘Of course,’ I said calmly, even though my heart was breaking. ‘I understand.’
‘Of course,’ I said calmly, though my heart was breaking. ‘I understand.’
I walked to the back seat, holding onto my present like a lifeline and trying not to cry.
This was Nathan’s moment, I reminded myself. Not mine.
As the music started to play, Nathan started to walk down the aisle. But then he stopped. He turned round. He stared at the sea of faces until his eyes met mine.
‘I need to do something before the wedding,’ he said loud enough for everyone to hear. ‘Because I wouldn’t be here today if someone hadn’t stepped in when no one else did.’
Just to give you an example.
He walked over to me with eyes burning with excitement and held out his hand.
“You’re not sitting in the back. You’re the one who raised me. You’re the one who stayed. Walk me down the aisle, Mum.”
Mum.
He’d never called me that before. Not once. Not once in seventeen years.
I took his hand, and we walked forward together. Each step was like a quiet miracle. The boy I’d helped raise was now a man, and I was by his side.
When we reached the altar, Nathan pulled a chair from the front row and placed it next to his.
‘Sit here,’ he said, “where you belong.
I looked at Melissa, tensing. She smiled politely, but said nothing.
At the reception, Nathan raised his glass, making the first toast.
‘To the woman who didn’t give birth to me, but gave me life anyway.’
I leaned over to him and whispered: ‘Your father would be proud of you.’
