I’m Lucas, 17, raised by my mom, Grace, since Dad died when I was eight. Sewing became my escape, but my aunt, Sophie, broke my trust by banning me from her wedding after I made her gown. Last week, I showed Mom my phone, my voice shaky. “Aunt Sophie didn’t invite me to her wedding,” I said, hurt flooding back. My room, cluttered with fabric and designs, was my safe space since I was 12, when Mom’s old sewing machine helped me heal from losing Dad.
At 13, I made my own clothes; by 16, I took paid commissions. When Sophie got engaged, she visited, all smiles. “Lucas, your designs are amazing,” she said. “Will you make my wedding dress? You’ll sit front row!” I was stunned. “You trust me?” I asked. She nodded, saying, “It’ll be perfect.” Mom offered to buy materials, and I dove in, excited. For eight months, I sketched dozens of patterns and sewed late, but Sophie’s demands grew mean: “The lace is ugly,” “This skirt’s too big,” “Redo the sleeves.” Her words stung, but I kept going.
Mom encouraged me, saying, “She’s stressed,” but I felt worn down. At the final fitting, the dress—laced with pearls—made Grandma cry. “Lucas, it’s a masterpiece,” she said. Sophie smiled, saying, “It’s great!” I thought she valued my work, but I was wrong. When I told Mom about the missing invite, she texted Sophie, who replied, “Adults-only wedding. Lucas will understand.” Mom called, furious. “He’s 17 and made your dress!” Sophie said, “I want elegance, not teens,” offering lunch later. Mom snapped, “You used him!” but Sophie hung up.
That night, I folded the dress, planning to send it. Mom stopped me. “She doesn’t deserve it,” she said. My heart ached, like when Dad missed my games. Mom texted Sophie: “No Lucas, no dress.” Sophie called, yelling, “My wedding’s days away!” Mom replied, “You hurt my son.” Sophie called it a gift, but Mom said, “Gifts need respect.” Mom priced it at $800, custom dress value. “For a kid?” Sophie scoffed. Mom listed it online, and offers came fast. A bride, Ava, visited, awestruck. “You made this?” she asked. I nodded. “It’s stunning,” she said, paying $800.
As Ava left, I smiled. “She loved it, Mom.” Sophie called, begging to invite me, but Mom said, “The dress is sold to someone who valued Lucas.” Sophie screamed, but we moved on. On her wedding day, Mom and I ate muffins, laughing. Ava sent wedding photos, glowing in my dress, thanking me and offering commissions. Last night, I treated Mom to pizza with my earnings, giving her a silk scarf. “Thanks for believing in me,” I said. Sophie’s betrayal taught me my talent’s worth, and Mom’s fight showed me I’m enough.
