Inside was Amelia, terrified and tear-streaked. “She said I needed a timeout,” she sobbed, pointing to Melanie — who had shoved her in and locked the door so her daughter could take her place. When confronted, Melanie scoffed. “She’s not even your real daughter. My Emma deserves the spotlight.” We escorted her out. Then I turned to Amelia and asked if she still wanted her moment. She nodded bravely.
As the music started again, Amelia walked down the aisle to a standing ovation. Chin high, basket in hand, she looked proud and strong. At the altar, she whispered to my husband, “I did it.” “You sure did,” he said, eyes full of tears. “You were incredible.” Amelia kept that flower basket by her bed for months. Every night she’d point to it and say, “Remember when I was the bravest flower girl ever?” And every night, I said the same thing: “I remember. And I always will.”