When Jade asked me to make six custom dresses for her bridesmaids, I said yes, hoping it would bring us closer. I spent $400 of our baby fund on materials. But when I handed her the dresses, she laughed and said it was my “wedding gift.”
Life struck again… at the perfect moment.
My stepsister’s call came one Tuesday morning as I was balancing my four-month-old son, Max, on my hip.
“Amelia? It’s Jade. I desperately need your help.”
I shifted Max onto my other arm while he tugged at my hair.
“What’s up?”
“You know I’m getting married next month, right? Well… I’m having a hell of a time finding dresses for my bridesmaids. I’ve been to twelve boutiques, and nothing fits everyone. Different bodies, you know. And then I remembered… you’re amazing with a sewing machine. Your work looks like a professional designer’s.”
“Jade, I’m not very—”
“Could you make them? Please. You’re home all day anyway, and of course, I’d pay you very well! You’d be saving my entire wedding. I don’t know what else to do anymore.”
Jade and I were never very close.
We had different mothers and different lives.
But we were family. Well… sort of.
“I haven’t done any professional work since Max was born. How long do I have?”
“Three weeks? I know it’s tight, but you can do it. Remember the dress you made for Lia’s prom? Everyone was asking who designed it!”
I looked at Max, who was now chewing on my T-shirt.
Our baby fund was running low.
My husband, Rio, was working double shifts at the factory.
And it still wasn’t enough.
Maybe this could help us a little.
“What’s your budget for materials and labor? Making six custom dresses is no small feat.”
“Don’t worry about that now. We’ll see when you’re done. I promise I’ll pay you.”
“Okay. I will.”
The first lady, Sarah, arrived on Thursday. Tall, curvy, and with a lot of opinions.
“I hate high necklines,” she said when she saw my sketch. “They make me look like a nun. Can you make it lower?”
“Sure. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. And I need the waist to be super tight here and here.”
On Friday, Emma arrived, petite, wanting the exact opposite.
“That neckline is too low,” she said with disgust. “I’m going to look vulgar. Can you make it higher? And the waist loose. I don’t like tight things.”
“Of course. We can alter it.”
“Great. And I want longer sleeves. I hate my arms.”
On Saturday, Jessica came, athletic, with her own list:
“I need a high leg slit. I want to be able to dance without feeling trapped. And something that supports the bust, please.”
Each of us had strong and conflicting requests.
“Can you make the skirt looser at the hips?” Sarah asked during her second fitting. “I feel enormous in tight cuts.”
“This color makes me look pale,” Emma complained. “Can’t we change it to blue?”
“This fabric feels cheap,” Jessica blurted out. “It won’t look good in the photos.”
I smiled.
“Sure. We adjusted everything.”
Meanwhile, Max cried every two hours.
I breastfed him with one hand and stuck pins in with the other.
I spent nights hunched over the sewing machine until 3 a.m.
Rio found me asleep on the kitchen table, surrounded by threads and scraps.
“You’re k.illing yourself with this project,” he told me one night, coffee in hand and a frown on his face. “When was the last time you slept more than two hours?”
“I’m almost done,” I muttered, pins in my mouth.
“Family that hasn’t even paid for the materials. You used $400 of our baby fund, Amelia.”
And she was right.
I bought quality silk, linings, lace, and everything else.
And Jade kept saying, “I’ll pay you soon.”
Two days before the wedding, I delivered the six perfectly tailored dresses.
Jade was lying on her couch, looking at her phone when I knocked on the door.
She didn’t even look at me.
“Leave them in the guest room.”
“Don’t you want to see them? They turned out beautiful.”
“I’m sure they’re adequate.”
“Adequate?”
Three weeks, $400, sleepless nights… and they were “adequate”?
—About the payment we talked about…
Now she looked up, raising an eyebrow.
—Payment? What payment?
—You said you’d reimburse me for the materials. And we didn’t discuss my sewing fee. Professional seamstresses charge.
—Are you serious? Obviously it was your wedding gift! Or what were you planning on giving me? A generic picture frame from a store? A blender?
—I used money meant for Max’s winter clothes. His coat doesn’t fit anymore, Jade…
—Don’t be so dramatic. You don’t even have a job. You’re home all day. I literally gave you a fun project to keep you busy.
Her words chilled me.
“Fun project.”
“You’re home all day.”
“I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time in weeks.”
“Welcome to motherhood. Now I have to get ready. Thanks for the dresses.”
I cried in the car for 30 minutes.
Ugly sobs, shoulders shaking, fogging up the windows.
When I got home, Rio saw me and immediately grabbed his phone.
“It’s over. I’m going to call her now.”
“No, please. Not before the wedding.”
“She used you. She lied to you. That was theft.”
“I know. But fighting now will only make it worse.”
“So we let her walk all over you?”
“For now… yes. I just want to ride out this storm.”
Rio gritted his teeth.
“This won’t end there.”
“I know. But first, let’s survive the wedding.”
The wedding was beautiful.
Jade looked spectacular in her designer dress.
But my dresses… they were the center of attention.
“Who designed the bridesmaids’ dresses?” they asked.
“They’re beautiful! So unique and well-fitting.”
I saw Jade’s jaw clench every time someone praised the bridesmaids and not her.
She spent a fortune on her dress, but everyone admired my creations made with bleeding fingers.
And then I heard something that made my blood boil.
Jade whispered to a friend near the bar:
“The dresses practically came for free. My stepsister is so desperate to feel useful since having the baby, she’ll do anything if you ask her in a sweet voice. Some people are easy to manipulate.”
Her friend laughed.
“That’s great. Free designer work.”
“I know! I should have done it sooner.”
My face burned with rage.
Twenty minutes before the first dance, Jade appeared at my table and grabbed my arm.
“Amelia, I need your help. Urgent. Please!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Come with me. Quickly.”
She led me to the women’s restroom, and we entered the largest stall.
Her expensive dress had ripped completely down the back.
Her white lace panties were visible. A giant slit.
“Oh my God!”
“Everyone’s going to see me!” she cried through tears.
“Photographers, video, 200 guests! And right before the first dance! Only you can save me. Please, Amelia!”
I stared at the mess for a long time.
Cheap sewing hidden under a designer label.
The irony was delicious.
I pulled my emergency sewing kit out of my bag.
Old habits.
“Don’t move. Don’t even breathe deeply.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she sobbed.
I knelt on the floor, using wipes to protect my knees.
My phone’s flashlight illuminated my work while people outside laughed.
Ten minutes later, the dress looked impeccable.
Jade looked at herself in the mirror and sighed.
“You’re my savior.”
She started to leave, but I stopped her.
“Wait. You owe me an apology. Not money. Just the truth. Say I made those dresses. Tell what really happened.”
“Amelia, I…”
“One truth, Jade. Just one.”
She left without saying anything.
I thought it would end there.
But then, in her speech, Jade stood up.
“Before I continue, I need to say something. An apology, actually.”
My heart stopped.
“I treated my stepsister like she was disposable.”
I promised to pay her for six custom-made dresses, and then told her it was her wedding gift.
She used her baby money to buy the materials, and yet, I acted like she was doing me a favor.
“Tonight, when my dress fell apart, she was the only one who could save me.”
And she did. Despite everything.
She pulled an envelope from her purse.
“I didn’t deserve her generosity.
But today I give her my gratitude… and what I owe her. Plus a little extra, for her baby.”
She walked up to me and handed it to me.
“I’m sorry, Amelia. For everything.”
The room erupted in applause, but all I could hear was my heart.
Not because of the money.
But because, finally, she’d seen me as more than just a free seamstress.
