My mother died when I was 12, and her wedding dress was the one thing I’d saved for my future wedding. So when my dad’s fiancée stole it, wore it herself, and claimed it looked better on her than on my mother, I knew I couldn’t let her get away with it. She had no idea what was coming!
The autumn light slanted through my apartment window, falling across the small jewelry box on my desk.
I folded another sweater into my duffel bag. I was heading home for my father’s wedding to Susan, a woman he got engaged to a few years ago.
She was 10 years younger than him, and we never really got along, but I kept the peace for Dad’s sake.
I didn’t know it then, but Susan had already done something that would put us at loggerheads once I got home.
I glanced at the framed photo by my bed.
My mother smiled back at me, young and bright, her dark hair catching sunlight on what must have been an ordinary afternoon.
She died of cancer when I was 12.
I was 21 now, and some days the grief still felt fresh.
Her wedding dress was at my father’s house, sealed in a preservation box on the top shelf of my old closet. I had promised myself I would wear it someday, in her honor.
My phone buzzed. Dad’s name lit up the screen.
“Just packing now,” I said. “I’ll be there before dinner.”
“Good, good. Susan’s been running around like a tornado. She’s been organizing the upstairs rooms, getting everything ready for guests.”
I paused, a sweater half-folded in my hands. “Organizing what, exactly?”
“Oh, you know her. She likes things tidy. Don’t worry about it.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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