Before her death, my mom left me her wedding dress for my future wedding. It was sacred to me. Untouched. Until my dad’s fiancée, Lisa, decided it was hers.
One evening, I came home early and caught her wearing it.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” I yelled.

She barely flinched. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t think you’d be home yet!”

“TAKE IT OFF.” My voice shook.

She just smirked. “Your dad and I are getting married. Wouldn’t it be a beautiful way to honor your mother’s memory? Moreover, we won’t have to waste money.”

I turned to my dad. “You’re okay with this?”

Awkward silence. Then Lisa said, “He thinks it’s a great idea.”

I saw red.

Fine. She wanted the dress? She could have it.
I played along, pretending I’d come around. I even helped her try it on again.

What Lisa didn’t know was that I had something special prepared.

I spent the next few days pretending to be on board. I smiled. I even complimented how the dress fit her. It made my stomach turn, but I had a plan.

The night before the wedding, Lisa insisted she wear the dress one last time before the big day. I helped her zip it up. Then I gave her a warm smile. “You should do a final twirl in front of the mirror!”

Lisa, always eager to admire herself, stepped in front of the full-length mirror in my parents’ bedroom. The dress did look beautiful—but not on her.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured, running her hands down the lace.

I tilted my head. “Oh! There’s just one last thing. A little tradition of my mom’s. Let me grab it.”

Lisa’s eyes lit up at the idea. She loved playing the part of the perfect stepmother, even if she had no idea what my mother was actually like.

I left the room and returned with a glass of red wine.

“My mom always said a bride should toast her future the night before,” I lied smoothly, handing her the glass.

Lisa smiled and took a sip, and then another. That’s when I ‘tripped.’

The entire glass spilled over the bodice, staining the delicate lace deep crimson.

Lisa screamed. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“Oh no!” I gasped. “I’m so clumsy!”

She frantically tried to dab the fabric, but it was hopeless. The wine had soaked in.

Dad rushed in. “What’s going on?”

Lisa turned to him in horror, gesturing wildly at the ruined dress. “Your daughter RUINED IT!”

I put on my best apologetic face. “I was just trying to help with the pre-wedding toast. You know, to honor Mom’s memory?”

Lisa’s face turned redder than the stain. “You little—”

“Lisa,” Dad interrupted. He looked exhausted. “Maybe it’s a sign that you shouldn’t wear the dress.”

She turned on him. “So now you’re against me too?”

Dad sighed. “I should’ve never agreed to this. The dress was meant for her. It was never ours to take.”

Lisa glared at both of us before storming out of the room.

The next morning, the wedding went ahead—but Lisa wore a backup dress she had to buy last-minute. And it was hideous. Cheap fabric, a weird fit, and absolutely nothing like my mother’s elegant gown.

She shot me daggers throughout the ceremony, but I just smiled sweetly.

A week later, Dad pulled me aside. “You really did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I just wanted to honor Mom’s memory.”

He shook his head, but there was something like admiration in his eyes. “You’re more like her than I realized.”

I never got my mom’s dress back in its original form. But I got something better—the satisfaction of knowing that Lisa didn’t get to steal it from me.

Lesson Learned:
Some things are sacred. When people try to take what isn’t theirs, they’ll learn the hard way that karma has a way of evening the score.

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