Just weeks before my wedding, my stepmother shattered the one thing I had left of my late mother—her treasured crystal glass set. She stood there, broom in hand, wearing that smug little smile, convinced she’d erased Mom from my life forever. What she didn’t know was that she’d just triggered her own unraveling.
I’m Jennifer, 25 years old. I lost my mom, Alice, when I was sixteen. Her absence still aches like a fresh wound. She was warmth personified—graceful, kind, and always smelling of lavender and cinnamon rolls. More than a mother, she was my best friend.
“These are for moments that matter,” she’d say. “Use them when your heart is full.”
That moment came when Michael proposed. I knew I’d use those glasses at our wedding. But Sandra—my stepmother—had other plans.
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