“These are for moments that matter,” she’d say. “Use them when your heart is full.”
That moment came when Michael proposed. I knew I’d use those glasses at our wedding. But Sandra—my stepmother—had other plans.
She married my dad five years after Mom passed, and from day one, she bristled at any mention of Alice. After my engagement, her bitterness sharpened. First came the cruel jabs:
“Will you walk down the aisle alone, or drag your mother’s urn with you?”
Then the demands:
“You’ll wear my wedding dress. It’s tradition.”
I refused. She didn’t take it well.
Two weeks later, I came home to a nightmare—Mom’s crystal set smashed across the dining room floor. Sandra stood there, feigning surprise.
“Oh, Jen! The cabinet just tipped over. Such a shame.”
