The morning of my daughters’ school pageant was meant to be joyful, filled with excitement and pride. But instead, I found my daughter Sophie in tears in the dressing room, clutching her destroyed dress. There was a long rip down the side, a burn across the bodice, and a strange stain that hadn’t been there the night before. Deep down, I knew exactly who had done it — and it broke my heart.

A few weeks earlier, Sophie and her stepsister Liza had begged me to make them matching dresses for the pageant. I lovingly agreed — pale blue satin with embroidered flowers. During fittings, they twirled around, laughing and dreaming about the big day. But my mother-in-law, Wendy, had never truly accepted Sophie. “She’s not David’s real daughter,” she’d said more than once. Just the weekend before, she proved it again by giving Liza a bracelet and completely ignoring Sophie. When I called her out, she replied sharply, “Family is blood.”

Still, we stayed at her house the night before the pageant, since it was close to the venue. I carefully hung both dresses in the guest room closet, making sure everything was perfect. But the next morning, only Sophie’s dress had been targeted and destroyed. Liza looked stunned and heartbroken for her sister. Then, bravely, she stepped forward and said,