I am Teresa, 58 years old. A simple woman, a market vendor, and the single mother of my son, Marco, who was about to marry the woman he loved—Lara, a young professional from a wealthy family.

Three months before the wedding, I found myself anxious every day—not about the venue, the flowers, or the guest list—but because I had nothing “new” to wear.

The Green Dress

I owned one  dress for special occasions: a faded green  gown, modestly embroidered at the chest. I wore it the day Marco was born. I wore it again when he graduated college. It had aged with me, just as he had grown with love and sacrifice.

I worried it was too old, too simple. I considered borrowing or buying something new—but nothing felt like me. So, I decided: I would wear my green dress.

The Wedding Day

The church shimmered with elegance. Guests sparkled in designer  gowns and tailored suits. I felt painfully ordinary.

As I stepped inside, I noticed the whispers:
“Is that the groom’s mother?”
“Poor thing… she should’ve dressed better.”

I smiled tightly, keeping my head high, trying not to let Marco see my embarrassment.

Then Lara approached. Her white gown glimmered, but her eyes were moist with tears. She reached for my hand—hands hardened by years of labor, soil, and sweat.

“Mom,” she said softly, “is that the dress you wore when Marco was born?”

I froze. “How… how did you know?”

“Marco told me,” she whispered, “he said whenever he wants to remember your love, he thinks of you in this dress—holding him through pain, smiling anyway.”

The room seemed to hush, as if everyone was listening.

She continued, “I don’t want you to change a thing. That dress… it’s every sacrifice you made for Marco. Nothing could be more beautiful.”

She hugged me, and I felt Marco step closer, gently wiping my tears.

“Mom,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “thank you for the green dress. Every time I see it, I remember there’s no color more beautiful than the love you’ve given me.”

The Laughter and Tears

After the ceremony, guests came forward—not to judge, but to celebrate:
“You look stunning, Mother Teresa.”
“Green suits you—it’s the color of life itself.”

Later, during the reception, Lara took the microphone:
“Today, I want to honor this woman. She may not wear designer clothes, but she is the reason I love Marco. If there’s anyone whose example I should follow as a wife, it’s Mother Teresa.”

Applause filled the hall. I stood there crying, no longer ashamed. That old green dress, filled with years of love, sacrifice, and devotion, had never been more precious.

The Lesson

True beauty isn’t measured by price tags or trends. It’s woven into the threads of a life lived with love and devotion. Mothers, no matter their clothes, are always radiant. And if love had a color, it wouldn’t be red or white—it would be green: the color of life that keeps giving, even when a mother is tired.