When Summer’s stepmom steals the wedding dress her late mother left for her, she refuses to let it slide. Betrayed by the one person who should have protected her, she hatches a plan… one that will ensure Lisa gets exactly what she deserves. After all, some things aren’t meant to be stolen.
My mom died when I was thirteen.
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. One second, she was there, laughing, telling me to tie my shoelaces, humming in the kitchen while she made blueberry pie, and the next?
A blueberry pie on a table | Source: Midjourney
She was gone.
It was sudden, cruel, and the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced.
But she was my best friend. And she left me something priceless.
Her wedding dress.
I still remember how she ran her fingers over the lace, her eyes soft as she placed it in my hands.
A wedding dress on a bed | Source: Midjourney
For my beautiful daughter,
this is so that a part of me will always be with you on your special day.
-Mom
A folded piece of paper on a table | Source: Midjourney
I mean, I was thirteen. Marriage felt a million years away, but I treasured that dress like a relic. I kept it zipped up in its protective bag, untouched, waiting for the day I’d finally get to wear it.
And then, my dad met her.
Lisa.
A smiling woman in red | Source: Midjourney
Lisa came into our lives like a whirlwind. She smiled too much and inserted herself into every conversation like she belonged with us. She made stupid comments about how I needed a “strong female figure” and how “a woman can’t grow up without a mother’s touch.”
Of course, I was polite. I tried to be happy for my dad. He had been so lonely, and I wanted him to find love again. Nobody would replace my mother in our lives, but we knew that she’d want us to be happy.
Except that Lisa didn’t just want to be my dad’s new wife. She wanted to erase my mom.
A smiling man sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
The moment she moved in, things changed. She started redecorating. She started boxing up the few things of my mom’s that we left out. Eventually, my home stopped feeling like mine.
And then came the engagement.
Dad proposed to her after just a year of them being together. I didn’t want to say too much about it because they were adults. I figured that despite my issues with Lisa, maybe he saw something in her that made him ready for marriage.
A smiling woman holding a box | Source: Midjourney
It was his life, his decision.
But when Lisa started planning the wedding, I should have known that she’d take it too far.
I just never expected this.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
I came home late one evening, stepping inside to the sound of laughter coming from my dad’s bedroom. Lisa’s voice? High and excited.
Another woman’s voice rang loud and clear.
Oh, goodness, I thought to myself.
It was Greta, Lisa’s sister.
Something felt off about the house. Like the entire energy was just… wrong.
A smiling woman standing in a bedroom | Source: Midjourney
The door was cracked open just enough for me to see inside.
And when I did, my entire world stopped.
Lisa was wearing my mom’s wedding dress.
She twirled in front of the mirror, adjusting the lace sleeves, smoothing the beading like it belonged to her. Like it wasn’t a sacred piece of my mother’s memory.
A young woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
Her sister clapped.
“Oh, my God. It’s perfect, Lisa! It’s like it was made for you, honey! Wow!”
“What the hell are you doing?!” I exclaimed, slamming the door open.
Lisa gasped, spinning toward me.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be home yet!”
“Take. It. Off. Now!”
An upset young woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
My entire body shook with rage.
She sighed, like I was a child throwing a tantrum.
“I was just trying it on. No big deal,” she said.
“No big deal?!” My voice cracked. “That dress was for me! My mom left it for me! It’s not yours!”
Lisa’s expression shifted. Her smile turned patronizing.
A woman wearing a wedding dress | Source: Midjourney
“Honey, it’s just a dress,” she said, sighing. “Besides, your dad and I are getting married. Wouldn’t it be a beautiful way to honor your mother? Me wearing her dress to marry him? I think the symbolism is beautiful… don’t you?”
She smiled at me, her fake smile making me feel uneasy.
“That’s a lovely way of looking at it,” Greta chimed in.
I saw red. This wasn’t a symbol of anything other than disrespect.
A smiling woman wearing a wedding dress | Source: Midjourney
I turned to my dad, who had just walked in, briefcase in hand.
He was my last hope.
“Dad. Say something. This isn’t okay!”
His jaw tightened. His shoulders stiffened.
For a brief second, I saw hesitation in his eyes. A flicker of discomfort, of guilt.
A man standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
But then Lisa looped her arm through his, smiling up at him like she already knew he wouldn’t fight her on this.
And just like that, he caved.
Lisa tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with triumph.
“Your dad thinks it’s a wonderful idea.”
A smiling woman in a wedding dress | Source: Midjourney
Something inside me snapped. I knew, right then, that I had lost him.
I could have cried that night. I could have screamed, shouted, or even eaten my feelings…
But I didn’t.
Instead, I sat in my dark room, laptop open, scrolling through article after article, fingers shaking over the keyboard.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Midjourney
How to weaken fabric?
How to ruin lace without visible damage?
How to make a dress fall apart?
My search history looked unhinged. But I didn’t care.
The first few articles were useless—staining techniques, how to stretch fabric.
A wedding dress on a laptop screen | Source: Midjourney
“That’s not what I need,” I muttered to the screen. “Give me something good.”
And then, I found something promising.
Soaking fabric in water and letting it dry weakens the fibers. Repeating the process multiple times makes delicate material brittle.
My breath hitched.
A young woman using her laptop | Source: Midjourney
It was perfect.
Not noticeable at first glance. Not immediate. But the moment Lisa moved too much? The seams would start to split.
The fabric would tear.
I read everything I could. Textile experiments, bridal forums, costume designers explaining fabric care. By the time the sun started creeping through my curtains, I had a plan.
A wedding dress on a hanger | Source: Midjourney
Lisa was going to walk down that aisle in a dress that wasn’t my mother’s… and she was going to humiliate herself while doing it.
When the morning rolled around, I stood in the kitchen, adding toppings on bagels.
I swallowed my fury and played the part of the mature stepdaughter. I pretended that I had accepted it.
Bagels on a wooden board | Source: Midjourney
“I’m okay with it, Lisa,” I said, cutting into an avocado. “I thought about it, and I guess your reasoning does make sense.”
“Really?” she asked, taken by surprise.
“Yes,” I said. “Here’s some breakfast, if you want.”
“I’ll have some coffee, and then can we try the dress on again?” she asked.
Avocado slices on a board | Source: Midjourney
I nodded.
I helped Lisa try on the dress again, nodding as she asked if it looked good.
“Oh, it’s perfect,” I murmured, straightening the lace on her sleeve. “We have a few days before the wedding. I’ll have it steamed so that it’s pristine for the ceremony, okay?”
Lisa beamed.
“See? I knew you’d come around! So, the dress is in your hands?”
I nodded.
She had no idea what I was about to do.
A lace wedding dress on a hanger | Source: Midjourney
The bell above the thrift store door jingled as Willow and I stepped inside. The place smelled like old fabric and dust, racks of dresses packed so tightly together that the lace and tulle tangled.
I swallowed hard.
I hadn’t been in a place like this since Mom took me shopping for a school dance dress years ago. Back when she had run her fingers over fabrics, teaching me the difference between chiffon and organza like it was the most important lesson in the world.
The exterior of a thrift shop | Source: Midjourney
Back when she was still here.
Willow nudged me.
“Are we looking for anything specific or just hoping the universe provides?”
I hesitated.
Then I exhaled, gripping the list I had scrawled in my notes app at 2 a.m.
A young woman holding her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Long sleeves. Lace. Beading. Something that looks expensive but isn’t.”
She blinked.
“That’s quite specific, Sum,” she said.
I didn’t answer. I just ran my hand over a nearby dress, cheap polyester rough under my fingers.
Willow sighed.
A row of wedding dresses | Source: Midjourney
“Summer, talk to me.”
I swallowed, my throat tight.
“I just… I really thought my dad would stand up for Mom. And preserve her memory…” My voice wavered, but I forced myself to keep going. “She told him. She wrote it down. That dress was meant for me. And he just stood there and let Lisa…” My hands clenched the fabric. “Let her steal it.”
“I know.” Willow’s eyes softened.
A young woman standing in a thrift shop | Source: Midjourney
I shook my head, my breath shaky.
“It’s like she’s trying to erase my mom. And he’s letting her.”
Willow grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight.
“She can’t erase your mom, Summer. She can try, but Lisa will never be her.”
A young woman in a thrift shop | Source: Midjourney
I nodded, biting my lip so hard it hurt. Then I exhaled and squared my shoulders.
“Come on,” I muttered, moving toward another rack of dresses. “Let’s find Lisa something worthy of her.”
That night, after dinner, everyone went off in their own directions. And when the house fell asleep, I made the switch.
Food on a table | Source: Midjourney
My mother’s dress stayed locked away in my room. The cheap replica that Willow and I had found took its place.
The cheap replica that was about to be soaked, dried, and weakened over the next few nights.
Lisa had absolutely no idea. She thought that I was being sweet. Dutiful.
A dress in a bathtub | Source: Midjourney
The morning of the wedding, guests filled the venue. Lisa beamed as she slipped into the fake dress, blissfully unaware.
“You did such a good job with steaming this dress, Summer,” she said. “Now, hand me my bouquet, and let’s go on our way! Your father is waiting for us at the end of the aisle.”
Being one of the bridesmaids, I walked down the aisle first. I locked eyes with my father for a brief moment before looking away.
A bridesmaid walking down the aisle | Source: Midjourney
When had he become a stranger? I thought to myself.
The music began, and Lisa started to walk down the aisle.
I stood there, watching her.
Lisa made her grand entrance, smug as ever. She practically floated down the aisle, her veil trailing behind her, her hands clutching my dad’s like she’d won some twisted game.
A woman walking down the aisle | Source: Midjourney
And just as she reached him…
Rip.
A gasp echoed through the room.
The fabric at her side split clean open.
Lisa froze.
A shocked bride | Source: Midjourney
Then, as she moved to cover herself with her hand, there was another rip.
One sleeve tore, the lace unraveling like a cheap costume. Beads started popping off, skittering across the floor like tiny white lies coming undone.
I had soaked the thrift store dress in water and let it dry overnight, weakening the fabric just enough. I had done that every night leading up to the wedding.
A smiling bridesmaid | Source: Midjourney
The moment Lisa moved too much, it was bound to disintegrate. Just like now…
“What’s happening?!” Lisa shrieked.
I stepped forward, arms crossed.
“I guess that’s what happens when you wear something old…”
A smug bridesmaid | Source: Midjourney
“Your mother’s dress?! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me that we needed a lining or something?”
“Oh, Lisa. That’s not my mom’s dress.”
Her head snapped toward me, face burning red.
“What did you do?” she bellowed.
“I wouldn’t trust you with something that precious, Lisa. So, I got you a little… replacement.”
A shocked bride | Source: Midjourney
The entire venue fell into stunned silence. My dad looked mortified. Guests exchanged murmurs, watching as Lisa clutched at the falling-apart dress. Children giggled behind their hands. Lisa’s perfect moment was coming undone.
And me?
I walked out of that ceremony with my head held high.
A young woman walking away | Source: Midjourney
Lisa refused to speak to me after that.
My dad? Oh, he was furious. But I told him the truth.
“You actually allowed her to wear Mom’s dress?” I said. “Even after you knew that Mom left it for me? I had to do something! You gave me no choice!”
An upset man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sorry, Summer,” he said. “She bulldozed her way into it. It was my fault. I was looking at your mom’s wedding dress… I was feeling nostalgic. And Lisa walked in on that moment. She wanted the dress the moment she saw it.”
“And you didn’t stop her? You didn’t help her see sense?”
My dad shook his head.
A young woman standing outside | Source: Midjourney
In the end, their wedding happened. Sure, it wasn’t as planned. No big ceremony. No grand dress. Just them, at a courthouse, in silence. I didn’t even go.
And my mom’s dress?
It’s still mine.
Waiting for the day I wear it. I may add an extra layer of lining now that I know my way around wedding dresses and preserving them.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
Chloe donates $10K toward her brother’s wedding, but his fiancée, Madison, wants more; she demands Chloe’s late mother’s wedding dress. When Chloe refuses, Madison throws a tantrum. But karma comes fast, and before the day is over, Chloe makes a move no one sees coming, one that changes everything.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Acolhi uma mendiga com um bebé porque ela me lembrava a minha falecida filha – O que ela fez na minha casa chocou-me profundamente
Acolhi uma mendiga com um bebé porque ela me lembrava a minha falecida filha – O que ela fez na minha casa chocou-me profundamente
A noite caía pesadamente sobre Lisboa, trazendo consigo uma brisa fria que me fazia encolher dentro do meu casaco. Tinha acabado de sair do cemitério, onde visitara o jazigo da minha Sofia. Um ano. Um ano desde que a doença a levara, deixando um vazio imenso no meu peito. Enquanto caminhava pelas ruas movimentadas, com o coração apertado, vi-a.
Estava sentada num banco de jardim, debaixo de um candeeiro fraco, aninhada contra o frio. Nos seus braços, um embrulho pequeno – um bebé. Os seus cabelos, claros e despenteados, emolduravam um rosto magro e pálido, e os seus olhos… ah, os seus olhos! Eram da mesma tonalidade de verde-água que os da minha Sofia, cheios de uma tristeza que me trespassou a alma. Foi como se o tempo parasse. Naquele momento, não vi uma mendiga; vi a minha filha, com um filho ao colo, perdida e desamparada.
Sem hesitar, aproximei-me. “Senhora, está tudo bem? Precisa de ajuda?” A sua voz, quando respondeu, era fraca, quase inaudível. “Não, obrigada. Estamos bem.” Mas os seus olhos denunciavam a sua mentira. O bebé começou a chorar baixinho, e ela tentou acalmá-lo, mas as suas mãos tremiam.
Não suportei a ideia de vê-los ali, na rua, naquelas condições. A memória de Sofia aterrorizava-me, a urgência de ajudar, de proteger, apoderou-se de mim. “Por favor, venha para minha casa”, propus, surpreendendo-me com a minha própria impulsividade. “Tenho um quarto vazio, comida quente. Não podem passar a noite aqui.”
Ela hesitou, desconfiada, mas o choro do bebé intensificou-se, e o desespero nos seus olhos deu lugar a uma relutância em aceitar a ajuda. Acabou por anuir, e juntas, na fria escuridão da noite, caminhámos para a minha casa.
Em casa, tratei de lhes dar o que comer e um banho quente. O bebé, uma menina de poucos meses, era adorável. Dei-lhe umas roupinhas que tinham sido da Sofia quando era bebé, guardadas com carinho. A jovem, que se chamava Mariana, agradeceu com um sorriso fraco, mas os seus olhos continuavam a expressar uma profunda dor e cansaço.
Os dias que se seguiram foram estranhos. Mariana era calada, mas gentil. Ajudava nas tarefas domésticas, e eu observava-a a cuidar da sua filha, que ela chamava de Clara, com um amor incondicional. Quanto mais eu a via, mais forte ficava a semelhança com a minha Sofia. Os mesmos gestos delicados, a mesma forma de rir, a mesma doçura no olhar. Era como ter um pedaço da minha filha de volta.
Comecei a sentir um afeto profundo por Mariana e Clara. A solidão que me consumia desde a morte da Sofia parecia diminuir. A casa, antes tão silenciosa, encheu-se de vida com o choro e as risadas da Clara. Eu sonhava em dar-lhes uma nova vida, em ser uma avó para a Clara, em preencher o vazio que a perda da Sofia tinha deixado.
Uma tarde, decidi ir às compras. Antes de sair, comentei com Mariana que estaria de volta em uma hora. “Não se preocupe com nada, Mariana. Sintam-se em casa”, disse, com um sorriso. Deixei a carteira e o telemóvel na sala, sobre a mesa de centro, sem preocupações. Confiava nelas.
Quando regressei, uma hora depois, a casa estava estranhamente silenciosa. Chamei por Mariana e Clara, mas não houve resposta. O meu coração começou a acelerar. Percorri os quartos, a cozinha, a sala de estar. Ninguém.
Foi então que o meu olhar recaiu sobre a mesa de centro. A carteira estava lá, mas aberta. O meu telemóvel… tinha desaparecido. Fui ao meu quarto, e o pequeno cofre onde guardava as joias da família e algumas economias estava aberto, vazio.
O choque foi avassalador. Não era apenas o dinheiro, as joias. Era a traição. A pessoa em quem eu tinha depositado a minha confiança, que eu tinha acolhido com o coração aberto, tinha-me roubado e fugido. A imagem de Sofia, que eu tinha projetado em Mariana, desmoronou-se. Senti uma dor lancinante, mais profunda do que a dor do roubo. Era a dor da desilusão, a sensação de que, mais uma vez, a vida me pregava uma partida cruel.
Sentei-me no sofá, as lágrimas a escorrerem-me pelo rosto. A casa, antes cheia de uma nova esperança, voltou a ser um lugar de silêncio e vazio. A minha generosidade, nascida da minha dor e do meu amor pela minha filha, tinha sido explorada. E a chocante verdade era que, no fundo, eu não tinha acolhido Mariana por ela, mas pela minha Sofia. E a mendiga, com os olhos da minha filha, tinha-me roubado o que me restava: a fé na bondade humana.
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