But Ryan’s mother, Denise, never approved of our wedding plans. She criticized every decision, from the guest list to the venue. I tried to keep peace, believing she’d eventually come around.the day before the wedding, Lucy screamed from my room. I ran in to find her sobbing beside a pile of lilac yarn. The dress had been carefully unraveled, stitch by stitch. My heart shattered. I knew immediately who had done it.When I confronted Denise, she admitted she didn’t think a homemade dress was “appropriate” and
