Liam proposed to me in the park, down on one knee with a simple diamond ring. I was overwhelmed with joy—but also sadness. My mom should’ve been there.
“I wanted to use your mother’s ring,” he said, “but I couldn’t find it.”
That’s when I remembered—Mom’s heirloom ring was still with Carl, my stepdad. Before she passed, she told me it was mine. But Carl always thought his daughter Vanessa, my stepsister, deserved it more.
When I went to retrieve it, the ring was gone.
“Vanessa has it,” Carl said. “She just got engaged.”
I was furious. “Mom wanted me to have it.”
“It’s just a ring,” he snapped.
Later that day, Vanessa posted pictures—showing off my mother’s ring like it was hers.
I drove to Grandma Margaret’s, heartbroken. She listened quietly, then promised, “They won’t get away with this.”
At a brunch she arranged in Mom’s memory, Vanessa showed up wearing the ring, glowing with pride. That’s when Grandma stood up and pulled out a small velvet box.
“My daughter gave me the real heirloom,” she said. “She knew someone might try to take it.”
Vanessa froze. Carl turned pale.
“The one you’re wearing is fake,” Grandma added, calm and sharp.
Then she turned to me and placed the real ring in my hand. It fit perfectly. My mother’s love, her memory, her legacy—restored in one powerful moment.
Vanessa muttered, “You tricked me!”
Grandma didn’t flinch. “Then update your followers. Say you grabbed the wrong ring.”
I didn’t need revenge. I had something better—what was always meant to be mine.
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