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The air hummed with magic. It was my day. The culmination of a lifetime of quiet hopes and secret dreams. Every flower, every linen, every whispered conversation felt like it was woven just for me. I stood backstage, heart thrumming a joyful rhythm against my ribs, watching my future walk down the aisle, waiting for my cue. This was it. The start of everything good.
My relationship with her, my mother, had always been a delicate dance. A push and pull. A constant, unspoken competition for attention, for love, for validation. Even now, on my wedding day, a tiny, nervous flicker in my stomach warned me to be ready. Just in case. But I pushed it down. Today was different. Today, surely, we could just be mother and daughter, celebrating.
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