Just as the wedding music began, something was wrong—Amelia, my nine-year-old stepdaughter and our flower girl, was missing. After a tense search, we found her in a locked supply closet, quietly crying and still clutching her flower basket.

Amelia had been told she was “in trouble” and put there by a well-meaning but misguided relative. It broke my heart. Amelia and I had built a close bond after the loss of her mother, and she had been so excited to be part of our wedding. She’d helped plan every detail, twirling in her pink-sashed dress that morning, practicing her flower girl walk again and again. I held her close and told her, “This is still your moment, if you want it.” She nodded.

When she walked down the aisle—graceful and teary-eyed—everyone stood and clapped. David, my husband, knelt and whispered, “You were amazing.”

That day could’ve been about what went wrong. But instead, it became a story of love, courage, and family. Amelia kept her flower basket by her bed for months, saying, “Remember when I was the bravest flower girl ever?”

And I always said, “I remember. And I always will.”