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In the church hall, my husband told four hundred guests that his stepsister had sewn the wedding dress my dying mother and I made for me. Sophie wore its tiny pearls and my mother's uneven hem. "Stop making Sophie's wedding about you," Matthew said. Everyone treated my reaction as the problem. But my name was still embroidered inside the lining. Then Sophie carried my dress into the bridal room, where a seamstress stood waiting with scissors.-