The projector screen lit up behind me. The first photo showed me at eight years old. Mom and I sat at our kitchen table. She was teaching me to polish the crystal glasses. They sparkled like magic in the afternoon light.
People in the audience made soft sounds of appreciation. Dad wiped his eyes.
Then the second image appeared. The video began to play. Sandra’s voice filled the room, crystal clear through the speakers.
“If Jennifer wants to honor someone at that wedding, it should be me.”
The crowd went dead silent. On screen, Sandra walked into our dining room. She picked up one of the crystal glasses and examined it with cold calculation.
“Time to get rid of Alice’s precious memories.”
Then she raised the glass high and smashed it to the floor.
Gasps echoed throughout the venue. People turned to stare at Sandra. Her face had gone white, while her designer dress remained bright and garish.
The video continued. Sandra methodically destroyed every piece. Each crash rang through the speakers. Her laughter followed every broken glass.
“Let’s see her honor her precious mommy now!” Sandra laughed.
I turned back to face the crowd. Sandra looked like she might faint.
“Fortunately,” I said clearly, “the crystal set you just watched her destroy was a replica. The real one is safe, thanks to my Aunt Marlene.”
My aunt appeared from the back of the room. She carried a silver tray holding Mom’s actual crystal glasses. They caught the lights and threw rainbows across the ceiling.
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.”
Sandra tried to speak. She tried to claim it was all a joke and a misunderstanding. But her words fell flat. No one believed her anymore.
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.
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