My stepmother always eyed my late mom’s necklace, believing it should be hers. When she stole it and wore it at her wedding without my consent, I was shattered. Furious, I did something that left everyone gasping.

I’m Olive, 23. This isn’t a sob story, but it’s about a necklace—not just any necklace, but my late mom’s. It’s the only thing left of her, besides memories.

I lost my mom, Poppy, when I was 19. Cancer. It was the most traumatic loss I’d ever experienced. She was my favorite person, my rock, my everything.

One minute, she was there with me, laughing, and the next, I was standing at her grave, holding her favorite white lilies. The pain was unbearable. Every morning, I hoped it was just a bad dream. But it wasn’t. Her loss took a toll on my emotional and physical health.

I went through therapy, which helped, but nothing could fill the void. I started to do better over time, but the hollowness never went away. Every time I saw something she loved—a flower, a book—my heart felt heavy.

But life had to go on, right? I knew Mom would’ve wanted me to find happiness. It wasn’t easy, and some days were harder than others, but I kept pushing through.

Dad crumbled, and I tried to be strong for both of us. I moved back in with him, bringing my belongings, including Mom’s diamond necklace, a family heirloom passed down to me.

Things took a turn when Dad introduced his new fiancée, Magdalene. From day one, she had her eyes on Mom’s necklace. “Olive, honey,” Dad started gently, “Magdalene really admires your mother’s necklace. She thinks it would look perfect with her wedding dress.”

I was furious. “Dad, that necklace is everything to me. It’s Mom’s.”

Magdalene stepped in with fake sweetness. “Oh, Olive, I promise I’ll take good care of it. It would be a beautiful tribute to your mom.”

“Tribute? More like a slap in the face,” I snapped. “It’s not happening.”

Dad sighed. “Olive, please. It’s just for one day.”

“No, Dad. It’s a no.”

With that, I stormed to my room, leaving Magdalene fuming. I knew I had to hide the necklace. My childhood teddy bear, Buttons, had a zipper at the back. Perfect.

I slipped the necklace inside, zipped it up, and placed Buttons on my bed.

The wedding day rolled around, and guess what? I got the boot. My own dad’s wedding, and they didn’t want me there.

While they were at the beach resort, I stayed home, feeling uneasy. I decided to check on Mom’s necklace. I picked up Buttons and unzipped him. My heart stopped. The necklace was gone.

I knew who had taken it. Magdalene.

I called her. “You took it! How dare you take my mom’s necklace?”

“Olive, calm down,” she cooed. “It belongs with the family heirlooms now.”

“It’s not yours! Give it back!”

“I’ll return it after the honeymoon,” she said dismissively.

My anger boiled over. I called the cops, explaining the situation. I rushed to the wedding venue, where the police were retrieving the necklace from Magdalene.

Guests whispered, and Dad looked shocked. I felt satisfaction. She deserved this.

When I got home, Dad and Magdalene were fuming. “You ruined our wedding!” she screamed. “How could you call the cops over a piece of jewelry?”

“You’ve burned all bridges with us,” Dad said. “I consider you dead to me.”

Heartbroken but resolute, I packed my belongings, including Mom’s photos. I left for my old apartment, looking back at Dad. “You lost your daughter today.”

Back in my apartment, I found peace knowing Mom’s necklace was safe. I joined a support group for those who lost loved ones, started painting, and focused on healing.

Slowly, I began to feel like myself again. My life was filled with memories of my mom, and I emerged stronger, reflecting the woman she always believed I could be.