Wedding Day Betrayal: Stepmother Wore My Late Mom’s Necklace

My Stepmother Wore My Late Mom’s Necklace at Her Wedding without My Permission – I Was Enraged & Taught Her a Lesson

My late mother’s necklace was always admired by my stepmother, who thought it should be hers. I was devastated when she took it and wore it to her wedding without asking permission. I did something that had everyone gasping in rage.My late mother’s necklace was always admired by my stepmother, who thought it should be hers. I was devastated when she took it and wore it to her wedding without asking permission. I did something that had everyone gasping in rage.

I’m Olive, and I’m 23. It’s about a necklace, but it’s not a sob tale. Not just any necklace, though. It belongs to my late mother. The recollections were all that remained of her. And I assure you, those are my only remaining recollections.

When I was 19, my mum Poppy passed away. Cancer. the poorest variety. That was the most painful death I had ever known. My favourite person in the world was my mother. We had a really tight relationship. She was everything to me—my confidante, my rock.

She was there with me in an instant, laughing at my corny jokes and sharing her lovely, contagious laugh. And then, suddenly, after she lost her fight with cancer, I found myself standing before her grave with her favourite white blooms and perfumed candles.

The anguish was intolerable. The idea that she was truly gone was beyond my comprehension.

I would wake up every morning hoping it was all in my dreams. However, it wasn’t. My mental and physical well-being were severely impacted by her death. Without her, I stopped eating, had trouble sleeping, and felt empty all throughout our house.

Though treatment was helpful, nothing could ever fully fill the gap she left behind.

During those meetings, I recall sitting there and attempting to express how deeply grieved I was. I would reply, “She was more than just my Mom.” “She was my best friend.”

The therapist would nod, but therapy would never really be able to ease the agony. It seemed as though a piece of me had been severed, and the wound was stubbornly unhealing.

With time, I began to feel better, but the hollowness persisted.

My heart would get heavy again every time I saw something that my mother loved, like a flower, a book, or even a recipe she used to make.

Still, life had to go on, didn’t it?

I was aware that my mother would have wanted me to go on and be happy even in her absence. I persevered by clinging to the memories and the love she provided me, even though it wasn’t always easy and some days were worse than others.

I tried to be the one to be strong for both of us as Dad fell apart.

After moving out of the flat I lived with my ex, I brought everything I owned, including Mom’s priceless diamond necklace, back to Dad’s. She had inherited this jewellery from her late grandmother, which she then gave to me.

Gradually, I started to recover. But when Dad presented his new fiancée, my soon-to-be stepmother Magdalene, things took a bad turn.

Is that really true? Dad is free to move on, after all. However, Mom? She was unique.

From the beginning, Magdalene was fixated on her mother’s necklace. Could you picture this woman having the gall to desire to wear something that belonged to the person she was taking the place of?

Dad said, “Olive, honey,” attempting to seem kind. “Magdalene is really fond of the jewellery that your mother has. She claims that it would look stunning with her wedding gown.”

I was enraged. “That necklace means the world to me, Dad. Mom owns it.”

With a phoney tenderness, Magdalene intervened. “Oh, Olive, my sweetheart, I swear I’ll look after it. It would be such a lovely homage to your mother, in my opinion.”

Honoured? More akin to a facial smack.

“No,” I yelled. It’s not taking place. I refuse to part with the jewellery.”

Dad let out a sigh. “Please, Olive. It is merely temporary.”

Someday? As if it’s not a huge deal?

“No, Papa. The answer is no.”

That being said, I bounded off to my room, leaving Magdalene furious. I had to keep the necklace hidden, I knew. Where, though? My room was off limits. Magdalene was a constant prying eye. I required a secure location that she would never search for.

Then it dawned on me. Buttons, my childhood teddy bear. He was with me when I was a child. The rear of him was zippered. Perfect.

I zipped it up, tucked the necklace inside, and set Buttons on my bed. All I had was that, even though it was a long shot.

When the big day for the wedding finally arrived, guess what? I was kicked out. Is it really true? They didn’t even want me to attend the wedding of my own father. That had been ensured by Magdalene.

I stayed home while everyone else was at the beach resort celebrating Dad and Magdalene’s wedding. Uneasy, I thought I should relocate Mom’s necklace to a safer hiding spot and went to check on it.

I lifted Buttons and proceeded to unzip him, delving into his plush fibre filling. My heart ceased to beat almost completely. The necklace had disappeared.

A chilling sense of dread crept into me. Whoever had taken it, I knew. Magdalene. And anybody else?

I gave her a call right away. “You took it,” I said to her. “How dare you take my Mom’s necklace without my permission?”

She crooned, “Olive, darling, calm down.” “I noticed you concealing it. It now belongs with the other family heirlooms.”

“It’s not yours!” I shouted. “Mother owned it! Return it right away!”

“Oh, Olive, please. Move on. I had to stay for the wedding and the guests. Dismissively, Magdalene added, “You better not come here and make a scene because I’ll return it after the honeymoon.”

I was hearing things that I couldn’t believe. You won’t, I assure you. You’re not telling the truth.”

“Anything you say, sweetie. She hung up. “Enjoy your day alone.”

My rage finally got the better of me. At her wedding, she dared to wear my late mother’s favourite jewellery and flaunt it as her own. My heart raced. It was necessary to impart to Magdalene a lesson she would never forget.

I informed the police of the issue and phoned them right away. I revealed to them that my stepmother had taken my mother’s necklace and was planning to take it on her honeymoon.

The police were already at the wedding location when I hurried to get there. I stood back and saw them take the necklace from Magdalene.

The visitors were chatting and staring in disbelief at the chaotic situation. Dad appeared to have taken a slap. Magdalene was a mess, her face full of tears. I had an odd sense of fulfilment. She was due for all of this and more since she took my mother’s cherished necklace.

Dad and Magdalene kept calling my phone, but I brushed them off and slipped out of the venue.

Soon later, I got a call from the police asking to give my mom’s necklace back. After gathering it and thanking them, I left for home. Dad and Magdalene were furiously waiting for me when I arrived.

“You ruined our wedding!” Magdalene let out a cry. “How could you call the cops over a crappy piece of jewellery?”

Dad chimed in, saying, “Olive, that was crazy and petty.” You made us feel ashamed!”

Magdalene gave me a sneer. You are a terrible daughter. You should burn in hell for causing me such embarrassment.”

I stood up for myself. “My late mother had the jewellery. You have no right to take it without my consent because it is sentimental.”

I could have waited to get it back, Dad and Magdalene said in their argument. Dad’s remarks pierce deeply. “Olive, you’ve destroyed all ties with us. After this, I believe you to be dead.”

I was devastated but determined to keep what was my mother’s. I packed everything I owned, even Mom’s old pictures and keepsakes.

I couldn’t help but feel depressed while I packed. This house was filled with both happy and sad memories. It was time to let go, though.

I headed downtown to my old flat. I looked at Dad before I left. It was a chilly “You lost your daughter today, Dad,” I remarked. “Congrats on your new marriage.”

Now it was only me and the memories in my old flat. That was alright, too. Knowing Mom’s cherished necklace was secure and in its rightful place gave me a sense of serenity.

I was by myself for the next three days, concentrating on my recovery. I became a member of a support group for cancer survivors.

Talking to people who could relate helped me manage. I began painting, a hobby my mother had always supported. It gave me a therapeutic outlet for my feelings.

I gradually began to feel like myself once more. Though not as intense, the agony was still present. Life began to gradually become more routine.

My former flat was warm and nostalgic for a bygone era. A corner sat Mom’s favourite armchair. I would frequently catch myself conversing with it, asking for guidance, sharing details about my day, as though she were still present.

My work served as my anchor. At the design firm, long hours kept my mind active. I lost myself in the world of colours and shapes and threw myself into undertakings. It was an escape, a means of forgetting.

While browsing social media one evening, a photo appeared. It was Dad and Magdalene, appearing utterly delighted during their honeymoon.

A flood of apathy washed over me after a stab of rage. Now, that was their existence. Here was mine, the necklace and Mom’s memories.

It was a protracted trip full of sadness, laughter, tears, and hope. But I came out stronger in the end. And even now, when I look in the mirror, I still see a reflection of the lady my mother always thought I could be.

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