09/05/2025
At age 35, divorced, with a 10-year-old daughter named Lucy, she is my everything. When things with my fiancé Ryan turned serious, Lucy's thoughts were most important. Thankfully, they became good friends quickly. Lucy radiated happiness when Ryan proposed.
"Do I get to wear a dress?" she asked, with excitement.
"More than that," I said. "You're going to be my maid of honor."
Her smile widened. I wanted this day to matter just as much to Lucy, who’s always been my support.
I set about crocheting Lucy’s dress myself. I’ve loved crocheting since I was a teenager. I carefully picked a soft yarn and spent many weeks creating the dress.
Every loop was made with love. Each hour was fueled by hope.
Lucy first tried it on just four days before the wedding, twirling and giggling in front of the mirror.
"I look like a fairy princess maid!"
Tears slipped down my face.
But the day before the wedding, Lucy went to get her dress from the garment bag.
She SCREAMED.
I dashed into the room.
Lucy was curled on the floor, holding only yarn.
Her beloved dress had been ruined.
Not just torn, but unravelled on purpose from the back neckline.
It was clearly DONE ON PURPOSE, BY HAND.
Lucy cried out:
"Mommy, it's gone. My dress is gone."
I comforted her, silent from pain and anger.
Later, Ryan walked in and saw me beside the ruined yarn, eyes puffy from crying.
"Who would even do this?" he wondered.
I looked at him, emptied inside. The answer was obvious. There was only ONE person who could do this.
Phone in hand—
and I made the call. ⬇️