My mom’s ceramic angel collection disappeared from the mantel in the first week. She called them “junk.” The family photo wall came down next. When I came home from school one day, the oak dining table — the one where I learned to read, where we carved pumpkins, where we ate every holiday meal — was out on the curb.
“Refreshing the space,” Stephanie said with a bright smile as she placed a new throw pillow onto our now expensive furniture. We now had shiny décor.
My dad told me to be patient. “She’s just trying to make it feel like home,” he said. But it wasn’t our home anymore. It was hers.
The first time Stephanie saw my mom’s dress, she wrinkled her nose as if I’d shown her a dead bird.
It was the day before graduation, and I was twirling in front of the mirror in the dress.
“Megan, you can’t be serious,” she said, clutching a glass of wine. “You want to wear that to prom?”
I nodded, holding the garment bag protectively. “It was my mom’s. I’ve always dreamed of wearing it.”
She raised her eyebrows and set the glass down a little too hard. “Megan, that dress is decades old. You’re going to look like you pulled it out of a thrift store donation bin.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s not about the look. It’s about the memory.”
She stepped closer and pointed at the bag. “You can’t wear that rag! You’ll disgrace our family. You’re part of my family now, and I won’t have people thinking we can’t afford to dress our daughter properly.”
“I’m not your daughter,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
Her jaw clenched. “Well, maybe if you acted like one, we wouldn’t have these problems. You’re wearing the designer dress I picked out, the one that cost thousands!”
But I stood my ground. “This is a special dress for me… I’m wearing it.”
“Your mom’s gone, Megan. She’s been gone for a long time. I’m your mother now, and as your mother, I won’t let you make a fool out of us.”
My hands trembled. I pressed the satin to my chest as if holding onto my mom. “This is all I have left of her,” I whispered, my throat tightening.
She threw her hands in the air dramatically.
“Oh, enough with this nonsense! I’ve raised you for years, given you a home, and everything you could want. And how do you thank me? By clinging to some outdated rag that should’ve been thrown out years ago?”
I cried quietly, unable to stop the tears from spilling. “It’s the only piece of her I can still hold on to…”
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