I spent months crocheting my 8-year-old daughter’s flower girl dress, only to find it ripped apart on my wedding morning. My future MIL admitted she’d destroyed it because Lily “wasn’t our blood.” I thought she’d ruined our day—until my groom picked up a microphone in front of 200 guests.
All 200 guests were seated at our wedding reception when my husband picked up the microphone.
He turned toward his mother.
Ida was about to discover that Glen had no intention of letting her get away with destroying my daughter’s flower girl dress.
“Mom, would you please look down at your feet? There’s something waiting beside your chair.”
Ida smiled.
Then she looked down.
“How could you do this to me?”
Her scream echoed across the hall.
Standing there in my wedding dress, I couldn’t stop thinking about how completely everything had changed in only a few days.
—
The living room glowed beneath the bright overhead light as my fingers worked through the final stitches of delicate white crochet.
For months, I had been making a flower girl dress for my eight-year-old daughter.
I’d woven tiny shell stitches into the thread, added small flowers across the skirt, and finished the sleeves and hem with a scalloped edge.
Now, it was almost complete.
Every stitch carried my hope that this wedding would finally give Lily the family she deserved.
“Mommy, is it done? Is it really done?”
Lily bounced onto the couch beside me.
“Almost, sweetheart,” I said, holding it up. “Just one more row.”
“I’m going to scatter the petals so slowly,” she whispered, twirling an imaginary bouquet. “Everyone will look at me first, and then they’ll look at you.”
I laughed and kissed the top of her head.
“That’s exactly how it should be.”
My first husband had disappeared the moment he learned I was pregnant.
For eight years, it had been just Lily and me.
Eventually, I stopped believing a good man would ever come along.
Then I met Glen.
He walked into the living room that evening and lifted Lily into his arms.
She squealed.
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