The bride’s mother looked me up and down with a smirk. “Know your place,” she said. She had no idea I owned the multi-million-dollar company behind this entire event.

The first sign of her disdain wasn’t what she said, but where she put me.
When guests were guided to their tables, Mrs. Margaret Whitfield made sure everyone saw her assigning me to the back — a wobbly table near the kitchen doors.
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