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.”
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:
