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

She had a way of entering rooms that made people straighten their backs without knowing why. She hugged Daniel quickly, gave me a brief smile, and then settled herself into the guest room.

Her eyes ran over the dress hanging on the mannequin in the corner of the room.

“Lily made it, Clara,” I said. “Isn’t it special?”

Clara nodded, her eyes moving slowly over the stitches.

“It’s very homespun, I guess.”

The word lingered longer than it needed to.

Her gaze didn’t just pass over it — she stopped on it.

Then she asked, too casually, “So, it will be here all night?”

“Yes,” I said. And her mouth tightened like she’d learned something useful.

Now I found Clara by the makeshift mimosa bar Aunt Sheryl had insisted on. She was fussing with orange slices like presentation mattered more than decency.

She blinked once, then followed — calm, like she hadn’t done a thing in her life.

I closed the door behind us.

“I opened the closet this morning and my dress was ripped.

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