It stopped.
Her gaze traveled over the white dress.
Then he looked at Clara’s face.
—Mom… what are you wearing?
Beatriz opened her arms.
—Don’t I look gorgeous?
Miguel did not respond immediately.
—It looks like a wedding dress.
“Not this again!” protested Beatriz. “It’s a formal dress.”
The photographer intervened uncomfortably.
—Shall we begin with the main portrait?
Beatriz seized the opportunity.
He quickly approached his son.
He took her arm.
And she stood beside him, right in front of the columns where Clara and Miguel had planned their first portrait as a married couple.
—Here, Miguel. Stand up straight.
Then he looked at Clara.
—You can step aside for a moment, darling.
Clara felt tears welling up in her eyes.
The photographer raised the camera.
From a distance, Beatriz, dressed in white, and Miguel looked like the stars of the wedding.
The real bride was several steps away, holding her bouquet.
Paula was outraged.
—This is absurd!
Miguel raised a hand.
-One moment.
The photographer lowered the camera.
-Something wrong?
Miguel looked at Clara.
She tried to smile, but her eyes were wet.
Then he looked at his mother.
—Who organized this session?
Beatriz feigned surprise.
—I just wanted some nice memories.
The photographer checked his schedule.
—Yesterday we received an update with the order of the photographs.
“Whose?” asked Miguel.
The man showed the confirmation email on his phone.
The request had come from Beatriz’s address.
It included detailed instructions.
The first photograph had to be of Miguel with his mother.
The second one, of Beatriz with the Montenegro family.
And Clara was only to be included in later portraits.
Miguel read the message twice.
Then he looked up.
—Mom, did you change the instructions without asking us?
Beatriz stiffened.
—I just wanted everything to be well organized.
—But it’s our wedding.
—And I am your mother!
His voice echoed in front of the stairs.
The nearby guests began to stare.
Beatriz pointed at Clara.
—Since you’ve been with her, her family makes all the decisions. I paid for part of this celebration and it seems I’m not entitled to anything.
Clara took a deep breath.
—Beatriz, we appreciate your help. But nobody asked you to change the photographs.
—Because you never ask me anything.
Miguel remained silent for a few seconds.
Then she realized that this was not a simple problem with a dress.
Her mother was using the money she had contributed and her place in the family to try to impose her will.
—Mom, I need to talk to you alone.
Beatriz crossed her arms.
—Are you going to scold me in front of everyone now?
—That’s precisely what I want to avoid.
They moved to one side of the entrance.
Clara stayed with Paula.
I saw Miguel talking seriously with his mother, but I couldn’t hear his words.
Beatriz began to gesture.
Then he put a hand to his chest.
Finally, she burst into tears.
Miguel did not raise his voice.
But he didn’t back down either.
When he returned, he went straight to Clara.
-Forgive me.
She looked at him.
—Miguel…
“I’ve spent months telling you that my mother didn’t mean any harm. But today she crossed a line, and I should have recognized that sooner.”
Clara began to cry.
—I don’t want to separate you from your mother.
Miguel took her hands.
—You’re not doing that. I can love her and tell her she has no right to treat you like that.
Then he turned to the photographer.
—We’re going to correct the instructions.
Beatriz returned hurriedly.
—Miguel, you’re not going to leave me out of your photographs.
He looked at her serenely.
—Of course there will be photographs with you. You’re my mother.
The woman seemed to relax.
But Miguel continued:
—Although it’s up to Clara and me first. And we’re not going to allow anyone to change our decisions again without consulting us.
Beatriz pressed her lips together.
—After everything I’ve done for you…
Miguel gently interrupted her.
—I’m grateful for everything you did raising me. But that doesn’t give you the right to decide for us.
The mother began to cry again.
—Then I’m no longer important to you.
Miguel shook his head.
—Yes, you are. But you’re not my wife.
Those words left Beatriz speechless.
The silence continued.
Until she murmured:
—If I can’t have the place I deserve, maybe it’s best if I leave.
Miguel watched her.
—I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay as my mother, not as a second girlfriend.
Clara looked at him in surprise.
For the first time, Miguel was clearly defending the space they were going to build together.
Beatriz held his gaze.
Then he asked:
—And what do you expect me to do with this dress?
