I couldn’t breathe. I fled upstairs, refusing to let her see me cry. That night, I called Aunt Marlene, sobbing.
“She destroyed Mom’s crystals.”
After a pause, Marlene spoke gently.
“She told her friend she was going to do it. I overheard her. So I switched the sets. What she broke was a thrift store replica. The originals are safe in my attic. And I installed a camera. We caught everything.”
For the first time in weeks, I smiled.
I let Sandra believe she’d won. She strutted around, satisfied. But three days later, at the wedding reception, the truth came out.
The hall glowed with white flowers and soft music. I took the mic and said,
“There’s someone I need to honor—my mother, Alice.”
A photo of us polishing the crystal glasses lit up the screen. Then came the video.
Sandra’s voice rang out:
“If Jennifer wants to honor someone, it should be me. Time to get rid of Alice’s precious memories.”
Gasps filled the room as the footage showed her smashing each glass, laughing.
When the lights came back on, all eyes turned to Sandra. She sat frozen, pale, exposed.
