My Daughter Knit My Wedding Dress – Just Hours Before the Ceremony, I Found It Ruined and Knew Exactly Who Did It

There were 23 people in my house on my wedding morning, and none of them noticed my daughter crying in the laundry room.

Lily had spent months knitting my wedding dress. Every stitch carried love, grief, and hope. It hung upstairs like glass.

When I opened the closet, my stomach dropped. The bodice had been ripped apart. Red wine stained the skirt.

It wasn’t an accident.

Lily stood behind me, shaking. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” I said. “Someone else did.”

I already knew who.

Daniel’s sister, Clara, had arrived the night before. She’d called the dress “homespun.” She’d asked if it would be hanging there all night.

I found her downstairs and told her I knew. She didn’t deny it. She said she was “protecting” her brother from a wedding that looked “cheap.”

I told Daniel.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You’re apologizing to Lily,” he said. “Then you’re leaving.”

Clara did both.

Lily and I repaired the dress together. We didn’t hide the damage. We stitched over it, leaving the seams visible.

“She tried to ruin it,” Lily whispered. “But she didn’t.”

When I walked down the aisle, the dress held strong.

So did we.

It wasn’t perfect.

It was ours.

And no one got to take that from us.