Losing my mother was the hardest thing I had ever gone through. We were incredibly close, and when she passed away four years ago, I felt like a part of me had been ripped away. In her final days, she made a special request: she wanted me to wear her wedding dress when I got married. It was her way of ensuring that she would be with me on my big day. I cherished that dress, keeping it safely stored, waiting for the moment I’d finally walk down the aisle.
My brother, Cristian, was younger than me by seven years. He had always been impulsive, the type to jump into things headfirst. So when he announced that he was engaged after just a year of dating his fiancée, Elena, I wasn’t entirely surprised. She seemed nice enough—confident, bubbly, and always the center of attention. I wanted to be supportive of their marriage, and with my stable job and savings, I decided to give them a gift that would help with their wedding expenses.
I invited them to a cozy little café, the kind our mother used to love. Over coffee and pastries, I slid an envelope across the table.
“Here,” I said with a warm smile. “Ten thousand dollars to help with your wedding.”
Cristian’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you serious?” He grabbed the envelope, flipping through the bills as though he couldn’t believe they were real. “This is incredible! Thank you so much.”
Before I could respond, Elena leaned forward, her lips curled in what I assumed was appreciation. But then she said something that completely threw me off balance.
“We’ve decided that I’ll be wearing your mom’s wedding dress for my big day. I’ll send you an address for delivery.”
I blinked, certain I had misheard her. “Excuse me—what?”
“We’ve decided,” she repeated, emphasizing the words. “It’s just sitting in a closet collecting dust, and since you’re not even engaged, we figured it made sense for me to wear it.”
My stomach twisted. The audacity of her words left me speechless. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm.
“Elena,” I said as evenly as I could, “I really appreciate that you admire my mother’s dress, but she wanted me to wear it. It was her last wish. I can’t give it away.”
Her face hardened instantly. “But you might never get married,” she pointed out, her voice laced with condescension. “Why let a perfectly good dress go to waste?”
Cristian, who had been flipping through the money just moments ago, looked between us with a nervous chuckle. “Babe, maybe we should—”
“No, Cristian,” she cut him off, her tone sharp. “I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. It’s a dress, not a house. She’s not even using it.”
I felt my hands tremble under the table, not from fear, but from the sheer effort it took to keep my composure. “It’s not just a dress,” I said firmly. “It’s my mother’s legacy. I’m not giving it away.”
Elena scoffed. “Well, that’s selfish.”
Before I could respond, the café manager approached and gently pulled me aside. My heart pounded. Was I making a scene? But when I looked at him, his expression was apologetic.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said softly, “but I couldn’t help overhearing. I just wanted to let you know that your mother used to come here often. She spoke about you a lot.”
A lump formed in my throat. “She did?”
He nodded. “She was always so proud of you. I remember she once said that she knew you’d make the right decisions, even in difficult situations.”
I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling my mother’s presence around me. It was exactly what I needed at that moment.
Behind me, I heard Elena’s chair scrape against the floor as she shot to her feet. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” she shrieked, drawing stares from other patrons. “You’re seriously going to choose a dusty old dress over your brother’s wedding?!”
Cristian put a hand on her arm, trying to calm her down, but she yanked away. “This is ridiculous!”
I squared my shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “I didn’t choose a dress over your wedding. I chose to respect my mother’s wishes. If you can’t understand that, then maybe we have bigger issues.”
She let out an exasperated huff before grabbing her purse and storming out of the café. Cristian lingered, looking conflicted. “I—” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I’ll talk to her.”
As he left, I sat back down, feeling drained but resolute. The manager refilled my coffee without a word, offering a kind smile before walking away. I stared at the cup, reflecting on everything that had just happened.
In that moment, I knew I had done the right thing. It wasn’t about a dress—it was about honoring my mother’s memory and standing up for myself.
A week later, Cristian called me. His voice was strained. “Elena gave me an ultimatum,” he admitted. “She said if I don’t make you give her the dress, you’re not invited to the wedding.”
I held my breath. “And?”
He sighed heavily. “I told her no. If she can’t respect my sister and my mother’s wishes, then maybe she’s not the right person for me.”
Tears welled in my eyes, but they weren’t sad tears. They were tears of relief. “I’m proud of you, Cristian.”
We hung up, and for the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. My mother’s dress remained safely tucked away, waiting for the day it would fulfill her wish. And I knew, when that day came, she’d be smiling down at me, just as proud as she always had been.
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