At my son’s wedding, I sat quietly in my little blue department-store dress while his bride’s family treated me like a harmless small-town widow they had generously agreed to tolerate, right up until the moment his mother-in-law glanced at me, smirked to her sister, and said just loud enough for the front row to hear, “That’s not a mother, that’s a mistake in a dress.”

The house had white columns and windows so tall they seemed to exist to reflect the family’s opinion of itself. Dinner was served in a room big enough to intimidate poultry, and Harrison spent the night performing his success.

“The secret, Diane,” Harrison said, “is understanding that money should work harder than you do.” I took a sip of wine as Meredith added that they wouldn’t dream of putting financial pressure on my side of the family.

“We know these things are awkward when families have different capacities,” Meredith said. I let the silence sit, and Harrison misread it as my embarrassment.

Brianna suggested that I might enjoy joining them on family trips to Aspen or Europe. “It would be nice for you to see more of the world,” she said with a sincerity that felt like charity.

I asked if I could contribute to the rehearsal dinner or the flowers, but they shot down every offer. “Our vendors are fairly specialized,” Harrison said, implying they were beyond my experience.

That was the second I decided to stop being merciful. I saw what their assumptions were doing to Hudson, who sat there smiling too hard while he was being managed.