I’m Bella, and the two things I protect most are my sanity and my late mother’s pottery collection. Mom was a ceramic artist, and each piece held memories—the sea-green vase she made after her first chemo session, the mug I held every morning. After she died, I moved back in with Dad and carefully displayed her works in a glass cabinet.
Then Dad married Karen, a polished, controlling woman who hated Mom’s pottery. She belittled my collection and eventually demanded I give her some. I refused. One night, I returned from a trip to find the cabinet shattered—Karen had “accidentally” destroyed everything.
But she’d underestimated me. Months earlier, I’d swapped the originals with fakes and set up a hidden camera. Watching the footage, I saw her smashing the replicas while spouting cruel words.
I called Dad to show him the video. Karen lied, but I told her she had to glue every shard together—or face police charges. She spent four exhausting weeks reconstructing worthless fakes, thinking she’d ruined my mother’s legacy.
Finally, I revealed the truth: the real pottery was intact. Karen had destroyed nothing but her own time and sanity. She left soon after, seeking a separation. Dad chose me.
Now, Mom’s pottery sits safely behind reinforced glass. Karen is gone, outsmarted, while Dad and I even signed up for a pottery class together. Some memories can’t be destroyed, no matter how cruel someone tries to be.
