My MIL was never satisfied with me. She made a million remarks every time we met. But that day, her usual nitpicking crossed the line. Gertrude declared that I wasn’t beautiful enough for her son. That was the last straw, so I entered a beauty contest! But even there, she continued to sabotage me.
David and I had recently returned from our honeymoon, and our life together was filled with love and happiness. However, my mother-in-law, Gertrude, never took me seriously.
She criticized me constantly, no matter what I did. Even that evening, during dinner, she found faults in everything.
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“Grace, dear, have you ever tried seasoning the soup with thyme? It would improve the flavor significantly,” Gertrude’s tone dripping with condescension.
I forced a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Gertrude.”
David, oblivious to the tension, looked up from his plate and said, “I think the soup is perfect, Grace.”
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Gertrude’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“The presentation of the food on the plates could be more refined. And that lipstick, my dear, it really doesn’t suit your skin tone.”
I bit my lip, trying to maintain my composure.
“I’ll consider that next time,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks flush.
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David, as usual, didn’t notice the tension. He was often lost in his business thoughts.
“Sorry, ladies, I have to check my email. I’m expecting an important letter,” he added, apologizing as he left.
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Once he was gone, Gertrude turned to me, her smile vanishing.
“Grace, you must understand. You’re not beautiful enough for my son.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt a lump form in my throat but managed to nod.
Without saying a word, I left the hose and retreated to my small atelier, a place that brought me immense joy.
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Designing and sewing clothes was my passion, but even this, Gertrude belittled, considering it an undignified occupation for someone in her family.
As I sat there, feeling dejected, I noticed an invitation from a friend to a beauty contest she was organizing. I picked it up, reading the details.
Despite my doubts, I decided to enter. I needed to prove my worth, not just to Gertrude, but to myself.
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***
The following weeks were a whirlwind of activity. When I first told David about entering the beauty contest, he was incredibly supportive.
“Grace, I think it’s a great idea,” he said, holding my hands. “You should do it for yourself.”
His encouragement gave me the strength I needed to go through with it. I underwent intensive training, attended workshops, and participated in rehearsals.
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All the contestants lived together in a hotel, cut off from their families, only interacting with each other. Many of the girls were envious and willing to do anything to win, like Chloe, who often sabotaged others.
One morning, I saw Chloe “accidentally” knock over a fellow contestant’s makeup bag, scattering its contents everywhere.
“Oops, sorry!”
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Despite this, I quickly made friends and impressed everyone with my kindness.
“Grace, you’re a lifesaver,” said Emma, another contestant, as I helped her fix a ripped dress.
“It’s nothing, really,” I replied with a smile. “We’re all in this together, right?”
During a rehearsal, I had a heartfelt conversation with Katie, a contestant I had befriended. We sat in a quiet corner of the auditorium, watching others practice. Chloe was listening as always.
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“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Katie asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.
“I think so,” I replied. “I’m going to present a clothing collection I designed. It’s created for everyday wear.”
“That’s amazing, Grace. You’re not just competing; you’re making a difference.”
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“Thanks, Katie. What about you? What’s your talent performance?”
“I’m going to sing,” she said with a shy smile. “I’ve always loved singing, but I’ve never performed in front of such a large audience before.”
“You’ll be great,” I assured her. “You’ve got an incredible voice.”
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***
Later that evening, I was in my hotel room, organizing my outfits for the next day, when there was a knock on the door. It was my friend, Lily, who had invited me to the contest.
“Hey, Grace,” she said, glancing around the room. “How are you doing? How’s the preparation going?”
“Hi! I’m a bit nervous, but everything is coming together. Thanks again, Lily, for inviting me to this contest. It means a lot.”
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“I’m sure you’ll do great,” she said warmly. “Actually, I need you to sign some documents regarding your participation. Do you have a pen?”
“Sure, let me find one for you,” I said, turning to my desk.
When I turned back, I saw Lily quickly stepping away from my wardrobe, trying to act casual.
“Here you go.”
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“Thanks,” she took a pen, her eyes avoiding mine. She handed me the documents, and I noticed her hands trembling slightly.
I decided not to comment on her actions. Instead, I took the documents and signed them politely.
“All done,” I said, handing them back to her.
“Great,” she said, forcing a smile. “Good luck tomorrow, Grace. I know you’ll shine.”
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“Thanks,” I replied. “I appreciate your support.”
We exchanged pleasantries, and she left the room quickly. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but I had no time to dwell on it.
I hung the garment bag with my dress in the wardrobe and decided to get some rest. As I lay in bed, thoughts of the contest swirled in my mind.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.
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***
The day of the contest arrived, and everything was going well. The air buzzed with excitement as contestants performed their talents, singing, dancing, and displaying their unique skills.
When my turn came, I presented my clothing collection, each piece crafted with care and dedication. I took a moment to steady my nerves and began to speak.
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“Good evening, everyone. My name is Grace, and I have a deep love for designing and sewing clothes. Tonight, I want to share with you a collection that is very close to my heart.”
I gestured to the models wearing my designs as they walked across the stage. Each outfit was unique, showcasing my skills and creativity. The audience watched intently, their eyes following every detail.
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“I have always believed that fashion should be accessible to everyone, regardless of their circumstances,” I continued.
“That’s why my dream is to use my talent to help those in need. I want to create beautiful, affordable clothing for families who cannot afford high-end fashion. These clothes you’re seeing tonight are part of that vision.”
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The audience began to murmur, clearly moved by my words. I pressed on.
“Every piece in this collection will be donated to families who need them the most. It’s my way of giving back to the community and making a difference, one stitch at a time. Fashion is not just about looking good; it’s about knowing that someone cares.”
As I finished speaking, the models lined up for a final walk. The audience stood up, clapping and cheering, and my heart swelled with pride and joy.
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David and Gertrude came to congratulate me. David handed me a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies.
“You were amazing, Grace,” he said, giving me a warm hug.
“Thanks, David.”
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Gertrude, however, leaned in and whispered in my ear:
“Don’t celebrate too soon. This contest isn’t meant for someone like you.”
Her words stung, but I forced a smile and thanked them both.
Backstage, the emotions of the day caught up with me. But I couldn’t let Gertrude’s words break me. I pulled myself together.
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Suddenly, the organizer ran up to me, looking frantic.
“Grace, we have a problem. That’s about your dress.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to see it for yourself,” she said, leading me to the dressing area.
I opened the garment bag. My breath caught in my throat when I realized it was Katie’s dress that had been spoiled. The fabric was torn, and the seams were ripped apart.
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Katie, who had been standing nearby, burst into tears.
“What am I going to do now? This contest is so important for my future.”
Everyone suspected Chloe, who had boasted about doing anything to win, but I had a different suspicion. I took a deep breath and put my arm around Katie.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
“But how?” Katie sobbed.
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I thought for a moment, then made a decision.
“Katie, you take my dress for the final runway.”
Katie looked at me, shocked. “But what about you? What will you wear?”
“You need this more than I do. I can wear something else.”
“Grace, I can’t believe you would do this for me. Thank you so much.”
I smiled and handed her the dress. “Go get ready. You deserve to shine.”
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As Katie hurried off to prepare, I found a simple dress I had made earlier. It wasn’t as glamorous as the one I had planned to wear, but it would do.
I changed quickly and took a moment to steady myself.
Back on stage, all the contestants appeared in stunning gowns. Katie wore my dress and looked absolutely radiant.
The audience murmured, noticing the contrast between my simple dress and the glamorous outfits around me. But I held my head high, knowing I had made the right choice.
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When it was my turn to speak about my future plans, I stated that I intended to be an ordinary woman who supported others, not chasing fame.
Once again, the audience gave me a standing ovation.
I caught a glimpse of Gertrude’s face, her eyes narrowing with frustration. It was obvious that she had orchestrated all that.
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Chloe wouldn’t have had the cunning to pull off something so intricate—it was clear now who was behind it all.
The moment of truth was approaching, and soon, I would finally be able to dictate my own rules in this game with my mother-in-law.
***
The judges declared Katie the winner, and I received the People’s Choice award.
As I stood on the stage, holding my trophy. The audience cheered and applauded.
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After the contest, David found me backstage. His eyes were shining with pride and love.
“Grace, you were incredible. You don’t need beauty contests to prove your worth. You’ve already shown your inner beauty and deserve all the respect and love in the world.”
“Thanks, David,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. “That means a lot.”
The support from the audience, especially David, made me remember who I am.
But there was one more thing I needed to do. I approached Gertrude, who was standing near the exit and barely concealed her frustration.
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“Gertrude, I know you were behind the sabotage. You bribed the organizer, my former friend. She confessed everything.”
Gertrude quickly masked her surprise with a cold smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grace.”
“Enough. This ends now. You tried to undermine me, but it didn’t work. I’ve shown my worth, and no amount of sabotage can change that.”
David stepped forward as he finally understood the situation.
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“Mother, Grace is right. It’s time you accept her for who she is. She deserves respect and love, and I won’t tolerate any more of your schemes.”
Gertrude opened her mouth to argue but then closed it, her face turning red with anger and embarrassment. She realized she had been caught and had no more excuses to hide behind.
“We’re leaving now,” David said, taking my hand.
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“We’re going to celebrate our victory and love. You can join us if you choose to accept Grace and treat her with the respect she deserves.”
Gertrude remained silent. David and I turned and walked away, leaving her behind.
The moment of truth had arrived, and I had finally stood up to Gertrude. David squeezed my hand, and I looked up at him, feeling a deep sense of gratitude.
“Let’s go celebrate,” he said with a smile.
“Let’s do that.”
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My Late Mom Became Rich Overnight Ten Years Ago, but along with Her Inheritance, I Received a Letter Saying, ‘You’re a Thief’ — Story of the Day
As Laura mourned her mother, each keepsake told a story of resilience and love—but a mysterious letter, accusing her mom of theft, shattered the solace of her grief. What secrets lay hidden in her family’s fortune, and how far would Laura go to uncover the truth?
I sat cross-legged on the carpet of my mom’s room, surrounded by pieces of her life.
Her favorite sweater lay in my lap, and I held it close, inhaling the faint lavender scent that still clung to it.
The familiar smell brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes.
Nearby, her infamous sweatpants, patched and re-patched a hundred times, lay folded.
They looked more like a work of art than an article of clothing. I let out a soft laugh through my tears, shaking my head.
Neil appeared in the doorway, his footsteps careful, as though he didn’t want to disturb my fragile state.
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“Laura, love,” he said softly, crouching beside me. His hand rested gently on my shoulder.
“You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll get through it together.”
I nodded, swiping at my damp cheeks with my sleeve.
“It’s just… it feels like every little thing brings her back. Even these sweatpants.” I gestured toward the well-worn fabric.
“She could’ve bought a hundred new pairs, but she refused to give these up.”
Neil picked them up, turning them over in his hands, the patches catching his attention.
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“Honestly, these belong in some kind of hall of fame for persistence. Your mom had money. Why would she keep these?”
A faint smile touched my lips.
“Because we weren’t always rich. My childhood was… tough. Mom worked nonstop—cleaner, caregiver, you name it. She made sacrifices just so I could have the basics. Then, out of nowhere, this huge inheritance changed everything.”
Neil’s eyebrows lifted. “She never told you where it came from?”
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I shook my head.
“No. I asked her so many times, but she’d just get quiet or brush it off. After the money came, we didn’t have to struggle anymore, but Mom stayed the same. She taught me to respect every penny. She knew what it felt like to have nothing.”
Neil wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into a comforting side hug.
“You’re going to make her proud, Laura. You’ve got her strength. You’ll honor her in everything you do.”
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I leaned into him, letting his warmth steady me. “I hope so, Neil. I really hope so.”
Neil was in the basement sorting through dusty boxes when the sharp chime of the doorbell rang out.
Wiping my hands on my jeans, I opened the door to find a mail carrier standing there with a single envelope in his hand.
It was addressed to my mom, in handwriting that was jagged and bold.
“She passed away,” I said softly, my voice catching.
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The mail carrier’s face softened. “Sorry for your loss,” he replied before walking away.
I closed the door, staring at the envelope in my hand. Something about it felt… strange. The paper was slightly crumpled, the ink dark and hurried.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I slid a finger under the flap, tearing it open.
My breath hitched as I read the words inside, written in sharp, black ink:
“You’re a thief. Return what you stole if you have any conscience left.”
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“What the hell?” I whispered, my heart pounding. The letter trembled in my hands as a chill ran through me. My mom—a thief? No, that wasn’t possible.
“Laura?” Neil’s voice called out as he ascended the basement stairs. He stepped into the room, dust on his shirt and a curious look on his face.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Without a word, I handed him the letter, my hands still shaking. He read it, his brows furrowing in confusion.
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“A thief?” Neil said slowly, looking up at me. “Your mom?”
“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head.
“She wasn’t a thief, Neil. She was kind, honest, and hardworking. This… this has to be some kind of mistake.”
Neil didn’t respond right away. He studied the letter again, his face thoughtful.
“Laura,” he began carefully, “you told me your mom never wanted to talk about where the money came from. What if—what if there’s some truth to this?”
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I glared at him, crossing my arms defensively. “Are you seriously suggesting my mom stole that inheritance?”
Neil held up his hands in surrender.
“I’m not accusing her, okay? But this letter—look, it mentions an address. Maybe we should go and figure out what this is all about.”
I hesitated, glancing back at the letter. As much as I hated the idea, Neil had a point. “Fine,” I said quietly. “But only because I need to prove this letter wrong.”
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The house loomed large as we approached, its towering structure casting shadows over the untamed garden. Though once magnificent, the cracked facade and overgrown hedges hinted at years of neglect.
The door creaked open to reveal a woman who looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Her hair was glossy, her clothes perfectly tailored, and her jewelry glittered in the fading sunlight.
The sharp contrast between her polished appearance and the house’s state of decay was unsettling.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone crisp and unwelcoming.
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“Irene?” I ventured, my voice wavering. She nodded, her expression unreadable. “I’m Laura,” I continued hesitantly.
“My mother… she’s the one you accused in your letter.”
Irene’s eyes narrowed as she studied me. For a moment, I thought she might shut the door in our faces, but then she stepped aside, waving us in with a flick of her manicured hand.
“Come in,” she said curtly.
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The study she led us to was a glimpse into another time. Leather chairs, an antique desk, and shelves lined with dusty, leather-bound books exuded a quiet elegance.
Irene sat down, crossing her legs with precision, and gestured for us to do the same.
“My father, Charles, was a wealthy man,” she began, her voice steady but cold.
“In his later years, he became frail and forgetful. That’s when your mother came into our lives. She was hired as his caregiver, and at first, we thought she was wonderful—kind, patient, hardworking. But we were wrong.”
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My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“She manipulated him,” Irene said bluntly.
“In his final months, when his mind was failing, she made him believe she was his daughter. She had him rewrite his will, cutting our family out of half his fortune.”
“That’s impossible!” I exclaimed, my hands trembling. “My mother wouldn’t—she couldn’t!”
Irene’s face remained impassive.
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“When he passed, she vanished with the money. And now, ten years later, we’re left to pick up the pieces. We’ve sold nearly everything to stay afloat.”
Neil squeezed my shoulder. “Laura,” he said gently, “this sounds serious. Maybe we should—”
“No!” I interrupted, tears streaming down my face. “She wouldn’t do that! My mother was the most honest person I’ve ever known.”
But even as I defended her, doubts crept into my mind. Images from my childhood flickered: my mother’s nervous smiles when I asked about the inheritance, her refusal to explain its origins.
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My thoughts spun faster, and then something else clicked—Neil.
The way he had confidently navigated the sprawling house, the way he’d casually called a cleaner by her name without an introduction.
When Irene excused herself to take a phone call, I turned to Neil, narrowing my eyes. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
Neil stiffened, avoiding my gaze. “You’re imagining things,” he said, his voice a little too calm.
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“It’s been a rough week, Laura. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.”
But I couldn’t shake the feeling. Something wasn’t right. “Fine,” I said finally, my voice cracking.
“If my mother really did this… I’ll return the money. I don’t want to live with stolen money. I need to do what’s right.”
Neil nodded, but his reaction felt… off. As Irene returned to the room, I steeled myself for what lay ahead, determined to uncover the truth—whatever it might be.
Back at my mom’s house the air felt eerily quiet as I dug through her safe, determined to find answers.
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Papers were stacked haphazardly, some yellowed with age, others crisp and untouched.
As I rifled through them, my fingers brushed against a small bundle of letters tied together with a faded ribbon.
Most of them were unopened, but one stood out—its envelope worn, its seal broken.
I pulled it out and unfolded the brittle paper, my heart pounding as I read the words scrawled in shaky handwriting:
“Dear Eleanor, I regret every day abandoning you as a child. Please let me make it up to you. I’ve written my will and included you, as you deserve. Please find a place in your heart to forgive me.
Charles”
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The words blurred as tears filled my eyes. My mother hadn’t stolen anything.
Charles, her employer, wasn’t just a kind old man—he was her father, my grandfather.
The inheritance was hers by right, a piece of justice for the years of pain he’d caused her.
A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Clutching the letter, I hurried to the living room.
Standing in the doorway was Irene, dressed in a sleek designer suit, her confidence practically radiating. Neil stood close to her, whispering something that made her smile.
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“What’s going on here?” I demanded, my voice cutting through the tense silence.
Neil spun around, his face pale. “Laura! You’re just in time,” he said, his tone overly cheerful. “Let’s get these documents signed.”
Irene stepped forward, her smile still plastered on. “Yes, let’s not drag this out.”
Neil laid the papers on the table and slid them toward me, but something inside me snapped.
Without hesitation, I grabbed the papers and tore them in half. “I know the truth,” I said, holding up the letter.
Irene’s smile faltered. “What truth?” she asked, her voice icy.
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“Charles was my grandfather,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside me.
“He gave my mother the money because he owed her. She didn’t steal anything.”
Neil’s face twisted in panic. “Laura, don’t be ridiculous—”
“Stop lying!” I shouted. “I saw you whispering to Irene. You’ve been working together, haven’t you?”
Irene turned on Neil, her composure slipping. “You said she’d sign! You promised! God, I can’t believe I wasted my time with you.”
Neil stammered, but I cut him off. “Get out. Both of you.”
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Neil dropped to his knees, pleading. “Laura, please. I made a mistake, but I love you.”
“Love doesn’t look like betrayal,” I said coldly, stepping back. “Goodbye, Neil.”
As they left, I held the letter close to my chest. My mother’s story wasn’t perfect, but it was hers, and it was honest. I wouldn’t let anyone tarnish her memory.
She had fought for what was right, and now, so would I.
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