James stepped forward and shielded Emily, saying, "It's my fault for forgetting the traditions. Come on, honey, let me carry you out."
Pushing him aside, I laughed bitterly. "No need. I can walk out on my own. I don't need you to carry me."
James' family home had been sold to pay for his father's medical bills, and after his father passed away, his mother moved back to her hometown.
Trishelle had never liked me, thinking I was spoiled and unworthy of her son.
Trishelle sat on the sofa when we arrived, showing no joy on this supposed happy day. But when she saw Emily, she immediately took her hand, thanking her profusely for all her hard work organizing the wedding.
After I paid my respects and called Trishelle her first name, she responded reluctantly. Then, Emily pulled out a tattered envelope from the bag containing the one my parents had given to James and handed it to me.
I mimicked James by squeezing the envelope, and Emily noticed. She said, "Don't mind it, Cynthia. In our hometown, it's customary for the daughter to give out the envelopes for her mother. This paying respect and calling the first name is just a formality, so we don't usually put money in it."
I had little expectation for this wedding, but I didn't anticipate something even more infuriating. "I saw my husband squeeze the envelope when he received it. Is that another of your hometown traditions? And what kind of daughter are you?" I threw the envelope in front of her and asked sternly.
The lively scene went silent as everyone turned to watch us.
