Throughout the ceremony, I saw her smile falter every time someone praised the gown.
Later, when she cornered me, her whisper trembled with rage.
“You embarrassed me,” she hissed. I met her gaze and said the words I’d swallowed for years: “You didn’t make that dress for me, Anna.
You made it to control me. But I don’t fit into your version of me anymore.” She went pale, realizing too late that her sabotage had become my triumph.
When photos of the wedding went online, everyone asked about the gown — and I made sure Tara got full credit.
Her small business took off overnight. Anna’s bitterness turned to silence. As for me, every time I see that dress hanging in my closet, I remember not the betrayal, but the victory — the moment I refused to be stitched into someone else’s jealousy and chose, instead, to wear my confidence proudly for the world to see.
