My Stepmom Wore My Late Mom’s Wedding Dress for Her Own Wedding – It Was Supposed to Be Mine

My Stepmom Wore My Late Mom’s Wedding Dress to Marry My Dad — Even Though It Was Meant for My Future Wedding

Summer won’t accept it when her stepmother takes the wedding gown her late mother left for her. She devises a strategy after being betrayed by the one person who ought to have kept her safe, one that will guarantee Lisa receives just compensation. Some items aren’t intended to be taken, after all.

When I was thirteen, my mother passed away.

That was not how it was intended to go. She was in the kitchen humming while she prepared blueberry pie, telling me to tighten my shoelaces, and laughing one moment, and then?

She had left.

It was the most agonizing thing I have ever gone through; it was abrupt and nasty.

She was my best buddy, though. She also left me a priceless item.

Her wedding gown.

As she put it in my hands, I can still picture her gentle gaze and the way she stroked her fingertips over the lace.

For my lovely daughter,

This is so that on your special day, a piece of me will always be with you.

-Mom

I was thirteen, after all. I cherished that outfit like an antique, but marriage seemed so far away. I waited for the day I could wear it, keeping it zipped up in its protective bag, unopened.

My dad then got to meet her.

Lisa.

Lisa was a tornado that swept into our lives. She injected herself into every conversation as if she belonged with us and smiled excessively. She said foolish things like “a woman can’t grow up without a mother’s touch” and that I required a “strong female figure.”

I was courteous, of course. I made an effort to be pleased for my dad. I wanted him to find love again because he had been so lonely. We knew that my mother would want us to be happy, but no one could ever fully replace her in our lives.

Lisa wasn’t merely interested in becoming my dad’s new wife, though. Her goal was to destroy my mother.

Everything changed when she moved in. She began to redecorate. She began packing the little items of my mother’s belongings that we had left behind. After a while, my house no longer felt like mine.

The engagement followed.

After only a year of dating, Dad asked her to marry him. Since they were grownups, I didn’t want to discuss it too much. Despite my problems with Lisa, I reasoned that perhaps he saw something in her that prepared him for marriage.

It was his choice, his life.

However, I should have realized Lisa would go too far when she began organizing the wedding.

I simply did not anticipate this.

It was late one night when I arrived home and heard my dad laughing in his bedroom. The voice of Lisa? Excited and high.

The voice of another woman echoed clearly.

“Oh my goodness,” I thought.

It was Lisa’s sister Greta.

There was something strange about the house. As if everything about the energy was just… off.

I could see inside because the door was slightly ajar.

And my whole world came to a halt when I did.

My mother’s wedding gown was on Lisa.

Changing the lace sleeves and smoothing the beading as if it were her own, she spun around in front of the mirror. As if it weren’t a treasured part of my mom’s past.

Her sister gave a clap.

“Oh, my God. Lisa, it’s flawless! Honey, that seems to have been made just for you! “Wow!”

“What the hell are you doing?!” I yelled and slammed the door.

Lisa whirled in my direction, gasping.

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

“Take. It. Off. Now!”

Anger made my whole body tremble.

She let out a sigh, like if I were a child having a fit.

“All I did was try it on. “No big deal,” she informed me.

“No big deal?!” My voice broke. “I had that dress for myself! I got it from my mom! It’s not yours.

Lisa changed her face. Her grin became condescending.

“Honey, it’s just a dress,” she sighed. In addition, I’m getting married to your dad. It would be a lovely way to pay tribute to your mother, wouldn’t it? To marry him, me in her dress? The symbolism is lovely, in my opinion. Do you agree?

She gave me a phony smile that made me uncomfortable.

“That’s a lovely way of looking at it,” Greta added.

I became enraged. Disrespect was the only thing this represented.

My dad had just entered, carrying a briefcase, so I turned to face him.

My final hope was him.

“Dad. Speak up. This is unacceptable.

He clenched his jaw. He tensed his shoulders.

I noticed hesitancy in his eyes for a moment. A glimmer of uneasiness, of remorse.

Lisa smiled up at him as though she already knew he wouldn’t argue with her, but then she put her arm through his.

Then he suddenly gave in.

Lisa cocked her head, triumph shining in her eyes.

“Your dad thinks it’s a wonderful idea.”

Something broke inside of me. At that moment, I realized I had lost him.

That night, I could have cried. I had the option of screaming, yelling, or even consuming my emotions.

However, I didn’t.

Rather, I sat in my dimly lit room with my laptop open, squinting at the keys as I read article after article.

How can fabric be made weaker?

How may lace be destroyed without obvious harm?

What causes a clothing to unravel?

My search history appeared to be messed up. I didn’t care, though.

The first few articles—on stretching fabric and staining methods—were pointless.

I whispered, “That’s not what I need,” to the television. “Give me something good.”

Then I discovered something encouraging.

The fibers of cloth are weakened by soaking it in water and then letting it dry. Delicate material becomes brittle when the technique is repeated several times.

My breath caught.

It was flawless.

not immediately apparent. Not right away. However, what if Lisa moved too much? It would begin to split at the seams.

The cloth would rip.

I read everything I could. experimentation with textiles, forums for brides, and explanations of fabric care by costume designers. I had a plan by the time the sun began to peek through my drapes.

Lisa was going to make a fool of herself by wearing a dress that wasn’t my mother’s as she walked down that aisle.

I was standing in the kitchen, topping bagels when daybreak arrived.

I controlled my anger and pretended to be the mature stepdaughter. I acted as though I had agreed to it.

I sliced into an avocado and said, “I’m okay with it, Lisa,” “I thought about it, and I guess your reasoning does make sense.”

“Really?” she inquired, startled.

“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 said.

I gave a nod.

Lisa asked if the dress looked okay, and I nodded as I assisted her in trying it on once again.

I whispered, “Oh, it’s perfect,” as I smoothed the lace on her sleeve. “The wedding will take place in a few days. Please allow me to steam it so that it is immaculate for the ceremony.

Lisa smiled.

“You see? I knew you would change your mind! So you’re holding the dress?”

I gave a nod.

She didn’t know what I was going to do.

Willow and I entered the thrift store as the bell above the door jingled. I had become friends with Willow before my mother went away. She wasn’t so much a friend as she was my sister. Racks of dresses crammed so closely together that the tulle and lace intertwined, and the space smelled like dust and old cloth.

I took a deep breath.

Since Mom went me shopping for a school dance dress years ago, I had not been in a similar setting. She taught me the distinction between organza and chiffon as if it were the most crucial instruction in the world back when she had brushed her fingers over materials.

When she was still here, that is.

Willow pushed me.

“Are we looking for anything specific or just hoping the universe provides?”

I paused.

I let out a breath and clutched the list I had scribbled in my notes app around two in the morning.

“Long sleeves. Lace. putting on beads. Something that appears costly yet isn’t.

She blinked.

She remarked, “That’s quite specific, Sum,”

I didn’t respond. I just rubbed my palm over a poor, rough-feeling polyester dress nearby.

Willow let out a sigh.

“Summer, talk to me.”

With a constricted throat, I swallowed.

“I simply… I genuinely believed that my dad would defend Mom. And keep her memories intact.” My voice faltered, but I made myself continue. “She informed him. She put it in writing. I was supposed to wear that dress. And he simply allowed Lisa to stand there.” I gripped the fabric tightly. “Let her steal it.”

“I know.” Willow’s gaze grew softer.

With a trembling breath, I shook my head.

She seems to be attempting to obliterate my mother. He’s allowing her to do so.

Willow took hold of my hand and squeezed it firmly.

“Summer, she can’t take away your mother. Lisa will never be her, no matter how hard she tries.

I nodded while painfully biting my lip. I then squared my shoulders and let out a breath.

I whispered, “Come on,” and walked over to another dress rack. “Let’s find Lisa something worthy of her.”

After dinner that evening, everyone left in different directions. And I switched it on when the house went to sleep.

In my chamber, my mother’s garment remained stored away. It was replaced with the inexpensive facsimile Willow and I had discovered.

Over the course of the following few nights, the inexpensive duplicate would be drenched, dried, and weakened.

Lisa didn’t know at all. She believed I was being kind. obedient.

The venue was packed on the morning of the wedding. Happily oblivious, Lisa smiled as she put on the phony outfit.

“You did such a good job with steaming this dress, Summer,” she commented. “Give me my bouquet now, and let’s head out! At the end of the aisle, your father is waiting for us.”

I was the first person to walk down the aisle as a bridesmaid. I briefly met my father’s eyes and then averted my gaze.

How long had he been unknown? I pondered.

Lisa started walking down the aisle as soon as the music started.

I watched her from where I stood.

Smug as ever, Lisa made her big debut. With her veil hanging behind her and her hands gripping my dad’s as if she had won some devious game, she nearly glided down the aisle.

And as soon as she got to him…

Rip.

The room resonated with a gasp.

At her side, the cloth ripped open.

Lisa stopped.

Then there was another rip as she reached for her hand to conceal herself.

The lace unraveled like a cheap costume, and one sleeve tore. Like tiny white lies unraveling, beads began to pop off and flutter over the floor.

In order to weaken the fabric just enough, I soaked the dress from the thrift store in water and allowed it to dry overnight. Every night before the wedding, I had done it.

It was destined to go apart the once Lisa moved excessively. The same as right now…

“What’s happening?!” Lisa let out a cry.

With my arms folded, I took a step forward.

“I guess that’s what happens when you wear something old…”

“The outfit your mother wore? How come you didn’t tell me? Is there a reason you didn’t tell me we required a lining?

“Oh, Lisa. My mother’s outfit isn’t that one.”

Her cheeks was red as she swung her head in my direction.

Then she said, “What did you do?”

“Lisa, I wouldn’t entrust you with something so valuable. I have a small replacement for you.

A startled stillness descended across the entire stadium. My father appeared embarrassed. The guests whispered to each other while Lisa gripped the falling dress. Youngsters chuckled behind their hands. Lisa’s idyllic moment was unraveling.

And me?

With my head held high, I left that ceremony.

After that, Lisa wouldn’t talk to me.

My father? Oh, he was angry. However, I was honest with him.

“You actually allowed her to wear Mom’s dress?” “I said.” “Even after you were aware that Mom had left me it? I had to take action! You left me with no options.

His words were, “I’m sorry, Summer,” “She entered it by bulldozing it. I was to blame. I was examining your mother’s wedding gown. I was experiencing nostalgia. And Lisa entered at that precise time. As soon as she saw the dress, she wanted it.

“You didn’t stop her, either? Didn’t you help her understand?

My father gave a headshake.

Eventually, they got married. Yes, it didn’t go as expected. Not a great ceremony. Not a fancy dress. Silently, just them, at a courthouse. I didn’t go at all.

What about my mother’s gown?

I still own it.

I’m looking forward to wearing it one day. Now that I understand bridal gowns and how to preserve them, I might add an additional layer of lining.

How would you have responded?