The crowd erupted in applause. Dad stood up from his table. His face showed anger I’d never seen before. He walked slowly to Sandra’s table. Every step echoed in the now-quiet room.
“Pack your things,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re done. We’re done.”
She gathered her purse and fled the venue. People whispered behind her as she left. The heavy doors swung shut on her shame.
That night, we raised Mom’s real crystal glasses in a toast. The weight felt perfect in my hand. The light danced through the crystal just like it had in our kitchen all those years ago.
For the first time since Mom died, I felt her presence. Really felt it. Like she was sitting right beside me, smiling.
The satisfaction wasn’t just about saving the crystals. It was watching Sandra realize she’d been outplayed by the very woman whose memory she tried to destroy.
Several guests had recorded the whole reveal on their phones. By morning, everyone in Millfield would know what Sandra had done. She’d never show her face in our town again.
Dad came over to me as the evening wound down. His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
“Your mother would be so proud,” he whispered. “You fought for her memory with grace and strength.”
I hugged him tightly. “She taught me how to love. And how to protect what matters.”
Sometimes karma needs a little push. It needs careful planning and a hidden camera.
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