My name is Jennifer, and at twenty-five I was preparing for one of the happiest days of my life—my wedding. But just weeks before the ceremony, an act of spite nearly broke me. What my stepmother didn’t know was that her plan would backfire in front of everyone.
I lost my mother, Alice, when I was sixteen. She was graceful, kind, and the sort of woman who could light up a room with her presence. One of the few things she left me was her cherished crystal glass set. To most, they might have looked like simple pieces of glass, but to me, they were a reminder of her love.
Every Sunday, she would take them out, polish them, and tell me stories about the day she bought them in downtown Grove Wood. “Jenny,” she used to say, “these are for moments that matter. When you use them, make sure it’s for something truly special.”
When my fiancé, Michael, proposed, I knew that special moment had arrived. I planned to use the glasses at my wedding reception to honor her memory. But not everyone shared my excitement.
My stepmother, Sandra, had always seemed uncomfortable when my mother’s name was mentioned. In the weeks leading up to the wedding, her attitude became harder to ignore. Then, one afternoon, I came home to find the dining room floor covered in shards of glass. My mother’s crystal set had been smashed.
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