Sometimes, the people who are supposed to love us most turn out to be the cr…u…e..l..est. I never imagined anyone could be that c…r…u..e..l to a child. On the morning of the school pageant, my daughter’s dress was destroyed. What hurt most wasn’t the damage… it was knowing exactly who did it and why.
The kitchen timer buzzed as I pulled out the last batch of chocolate chip cookies, the sweet aroma filling our modest suburban home. Upstairs, giggles floated down the hallway where my daughters were sprawled on the carpet, planning their school pageant outfits.
Six years into my marriage with Grev and those sounds still made my heart swell. Watching our daughters, Faith and Skye — technically, my daughter and his daughter from our previous marriages — become inseparable has been the greatest gift of this whole blended family thing.
“Mom! Can we have cookies now?” Faith called from upstairs.
“Only if you’ve finished your homework!” I shouted back.
Thundering footsteps cascaded down the stairs as both girls, now 15, burst into the kitchen, laughing.
“We’re starving,” Skye proclaimed dramatically, reaching for a cookie. Her dark curls matched her father’s, while Faith’s blonde waves came from me.
“Dad’s going to be late again, isn’t he?” Faith asked, perching on a barstool.
I nodded, sliding glasses of milk their way. “Budget meeting. He said not to wait up.”
“Hey, did you guys see the flyer? For the Spring Pageant?” Skye asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “We should totally do it.”
Faith hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“Come on! We could wear matching dresses and everything,” Skye insisted.
“And who’s going to make these matching dresses?” I raised an eyebrow, already knowing I’d be volunteering.
They both turned to me with identical pleading expressions.
“Please, Mom? You’re amazing with the sewing machine,” Faith said.
“Please, Becca?” Skye echoed. She’d never called me “Mom,” but the way she said my name carried the same warmth.
How could I say no to those faces?
“Fine,” I laughed. “But you’re both helping with the design.”
Later that night, as Grev slipped into bed beside me, I whispered, “The girls want to enter the Spring Pageant. Together.”
He pulled me close. “That’s great. My mother called, by the way. She wants us all for Sunday dinner.”
My stomach knotted. “Pat invited all of us?”
Even in the darkness, I felt his hesitation. “Well, she asked about Skye specifically, but—”
“It’s fine,” I cut him off. “We’ll all go. It’s been weeks since her last… comment.”
Grev sighed. “I’ve talked to her so many times, Becca. I don’t know what else to do.”
I squeezed his hand. “We just keep showing her that we’re a family… all of us.”
Sunday dinner at Pat’s sprawling colonial house was always an exercise in restraint. And that day was no exception.
“Skye, darling, I got you something,” she announced after we finished her famous pot roast. She pulled out a small jewelry box and handed it to her granddaughter.
Skye opened it to find a delicate silver bracelet with a heart charm. “Wow, thanks, Grandma!”
Faith sat quietly beside her, her sad eyes fixed on her empty plate. I felt a familiar burn in my chest.
“The girls have exciting news,” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “They’re both entering the Spring Pageant at school.”
“How lovely,” Pat replied, her smile dimming slightly. “Skye, you’ll be wonderful on stage. You have your late mother’s grace.”
Grev cleared his throat. “Both girls will be wonderful.”
“Of course,” Pat said dismissively, then turned to Skye. “Are you wearing the blue dress we saw at the mall last month?”
“Actually,” I interjected, “I’m making their dresses. Matching ones.”
Pat’s eyebrows shot up. “Matching? But Skye should stand out. She’s got the looks.”
“Mom?” Grev warned.
“What? I’m just saying some girls are naturally more suited for these things. It’s genetics.”
Faith pushed her chair back slightly. “May I be excused? I need to use the bathroom.”
After she left, I leaned forward. “Pat, we’ve talked about this. Both girls deserve equal treatment.”
“Equal treatment?” She laughed. “Becca, dear, I’m not being cruel. I’m being realistic. Faith is YOUR daughter. Not Grev’s. Why pretend otherwise?”
“Because we’re a family,” Grev said firmly. “All of us.”
“Family is blood,” Pat hissed, her voice hard as stone. “You can’t change that with wishful thinking. Faith is not my granddaughter. And she never will be.”
“Mom, can you please—”
“Grev, it’s okay.” I cut him off gently, already turning toward the stairs. “Let’s just go home.”
I headed up to get the girls.
For weeks, I stayed up late working on the dresses — pale blue satin with hand-embroidered flowers across the bodices. The girls would try them on, twirling in front of the mirror, making plans for their hair and makeup.
“These are the most beautiful dresses ever!” Faith exclaimed during their final fitting, running her fingers along the delicate lace trim.
“Becca, you’re a genius!” Skye agreed, examining her reflection.
I smiled, exhausted but proud. “You’re both going to steal the show.”
The pageant was scheduled for Saturday morning at the community center near Pat’s neighborhood. Since it was an early start, Grev suggested we stay at his mother’s the night before.
“It makes sense,” he said when I expressed concern. “She’s five minutes from the venue. We’d have to leave our place at dawn otherwise.”
“But the dresses—”
“We’ll bring them with us and keep them safe. It’s one night, Becca.”
I relented, telling myself I was being paranoid. Pat wouldn’t stoop so low as to sabotage a child’s moment. Would she?
Friday evening found us settled in Pat’s guest rooms. I carefully hung both dresses in the closet of the girls’ room, making sure they wouldn’t wrinkle overnight.
At dinner, Pat was unusually pleasant, asking the girls about school and their pageant preparations. I began to relax, thinking maybe I’d misjudged her.
After dessert, Faith turned to Pat. “Grandma, can I try on my dress one more time? Just to make sure everything’s perfect?”
The room went silent. It was the first time Faith had called her “Grandma” directly.
Pat’s smile tightened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You might get something on it.”
“I’ll be super careful,” Faith promised.
“I said no.” Pat’s voice turned cold. “Besides, girl, these pageants are about poise and natural beauty. Some girls just have it, and others…” She let the sentence hang.
Faith’s face crumpled slightly before she composed herself. “You’re right. Better to save it for tomorrow.”
Later, as I tucked the girls in, Faith whispered, “She hates me, doesn’t she?”
“No, sweetie,” I lied. “She just… doesn’t know how to be a grandmother to both of you yet.”
“It’s been six years, Mom.”
I had no answer for that.
Morning chaos kicked off right at 7 a.m. with showers, breakfast, hair… the works. Everyone was scrambling to be ready by nine. The moment we got to the venue, the girls darted off to the dressing room, and Grev stayed behind to unload the car.
I was fixing my earring when Faith burst out of the room, tears streaming down her face.
“MOM?? My dress…”
My heart dropped. “What happened, sweetie?”
“It’s RUINED.”
I rushed to the girls’ room. Skye stood there in her perfect dress, looking shell-shocked. And there, on the table, lay Faith’s dress. A tear ran along the side seam, an ugly brown stain botched across the bodice, and worst of all, a scorched patch ran right through the embroidered flowers.
“Oh my God… what happened?” I whispered, picking it up with trembling hands.
“I don’t know,” Faith sobbed. “It was fine when I saw it in the closet last night. But when I took it out of the bag to get dressed, it was like this.”
I looked around the room when a soft throat-clearing came from the doorway. Pat stood there, impeccably dressed, watching us.
“Such a shame,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “But some things aren’t meant to be. Perhaps it’s a sign.”
“A sign of what?” I snapped.
“That some girls don’t belong on that stage. Don’t worry, Faith. You can watch Skye shine.”
Grev appeared behind his mother. “What’s going on? The show starts in five minutes.”
Before I could answer, Skye stepped forward, her face set in determination. “I think Grandma ruined Faith’s dress.”
“What?” Grev looked between them all. “Mom, did you..?”
“Of course not,” Pat scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I saw you,” Skye retorted. “Last night. You came in when you thought we were asleep. You took Faith’s dress. I thought you were ironing it.”
The room went silent, and Pat’s face hardened.
“Skye, darling, you must have been dreaming.”
“I wasn’t.” Skye’s voice didn’t waver. Then, to everyone’s s…h..o..c..k, she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, stepping out of it. Standing in her slip and tights, she held out the blue gown to Faith.
“Here, take mine.”
Faith backed away. “No, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Skye insisted, hugging her. “We’re sisters. This is what sisters do.”
“Skye!” Pat gasped. “Put that dress back on immediately!”
Skye ignored her, helping Faith into the dress. “It doesn’t matter which one of us wears it. We both belong on that stage.”
“I won’t allow this.”
Grev finally found his voice. “Yes, you will. Or you can explain to everyone at the pageant exactly why one dress is destroyed and your granddaughter isn’t participating.”
Pat’s face went white. “She is not my granddaughter.”
“Yes, she is,” Skye said fiercely. “And if you can’t see that, then maybe I don’t want to be your granddaughter either.”
The community center buzzed with excitement as families filled the auditorium. Backstage, I helped adjust Faith’s borrowed dress while Skye sat nearby in jeans and a blouse.
“You don’t have to do this,” Faith told her again.
Skye shrugged. “There’ll be other pageants. But there’s only one you.”
When Faith walked onto that stage, she carried herself with a grace born from knowing she was truly loved. Not by everyone… but by the people who mattered most.
She didn’t win first place. She came in second, right behind Emma and her professionally tailored gown. But as the girls filed off stage, crowns in hand, the pride in Faith’s eyes was worth more than any trophy.
Pat left before the ceremony ended, slipping out a side door without saying goodbye.
That evening, as the four of us celebrated with pizza in our living room, Grev’s phone buzzed with a text from his mother: “I hope you’re happy with your choice.”
He showed it to me, then typed back: “I am. It’s time you made yours.”
We didn’t see Pat for six months after that. When she finally called, she asked to visit. Then, she arrived with two identical gift bags — one for Skye and one for Faith.
It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t acceptance. But it was a start.
Blood doesn’t make a family. Love does. And sometimes, it takes a child to teach an adult what that really means.
