Sixteen years ago, I lost my son, Mark, in a tragic accident. His wife, Melissa, left, abandoning little Emma with me. I raised her alone, doing everything I could to make her feel loved. When prom came, I sewed her a pale blue dress on my old machine. Emma’s eyes sparkled when she tried it on. “It’s the most beautiful dress,” she whispered, and I almost cried. That night, while she twirled, there was a knock. I opened the door and froze. Melissa stood there, glowing and smelling of perfume. She walked in, hugged Emma, and said, “I BROUGHT YOU SOMETHING!” She handed her a designer dress, sneering at the one I made. “OH MY GOD, honey, you can’t wear that,” she said. “Take THIS one—it’s a REAL dress!” Just then, an envelope fell from her purse. Emma opened it and gasped. She realized Melissa’s true motives and why she was there.
After raising my granddaughter alone following the death of my son, I thought the hardest days were mostly behind us.…
