08/24/2025
16 years ago, my son Mark died in a construction accident. His wife, Melissa, didn't wait for the dust to settle – she left her 2-year-old daughter, Emma, with me and ran off with a richer man. I raised Emma in Mark's modest house, working side jobs so she wouldn't feel different from other kids. We had little money and Emma never asked for much, but when prom came, I wanted her to feel special. On my old sewing machine, I stitched a soft blue dress. When Emma tried it on, tears welled in her eyes and she whispered: "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen." That day, as Emma twirled in front of the mirror, a knock came. I opened the door – and froze. It was Melissa. She swept in like a queen – designer heels, flawless makeup, perfume filling the hallway. With a sly, forced smile, she hugged Emma and said: "I brought you a special gift." She unzipped a bag and revealed a glittering, expensive designer gown. With thinly veiled disdain, she glanced at the dress I had sewn and said: "You can't wear that, sweetheart. Everyone will laugh at you. Take this – the real dress." I felt something was wrong, but for a moment, I wanted to believe she had come back to rebuild a bond with her daughter. But then an ENVELOPE slipped from Melissa's bag. Emma picked it up to return it and saw HER name on it. She opened it and GASPED. She realized that Melissa's TRUE MOTIVES were much worse – and why she had put on this show. ⬇️🌦️🖤💧 🌦️🖤💧
