My daughter Amy has been my entire world since she was born.

After her father left when she was two, it was just the two of us against the world until Stephen came around.

He brought love, security, and, tragically, his mother Gloria into our lives.

She has expressed her disdain for me and Amy since the day I married her son.

Stephen would always defend us, bless him. “Amy is my daughter, Mother,” he’d say firmly. “And Martha is my wife. That makes them family.”

Sometimes these discussions became heated, but Stephen could never persuade her to see reason. And if I even suggested we all calm down, Gloria would say it was a family affair and I should stay out of it.

It was never easy, but for two years, I attempted to maintain civility and keep the peace. Then Gloria did something unforgivable.

Amy has always had a fascination for gardening. On her 12th birthday, Stephen and I gave her a few plants and set aside an area for her to start her own garden.

She knew the names of every flower when they would blossom, and she stared down her nose at Amy’s flowers and sniffed.

Gloria had promised to look after our dog while we were gone for the weekend, so I had to show her where we kept his food and try not to give her a piece of my mind.

The weekend was ideal. Amy picked gorgeous rocks, Stephen toasted marshmallows, and I completely forgot about Gloria.

On the way home, we dropped Amy off at my mother’s house to spend some quality time with Grandma. For that reason alone, she was spared the sight of Gloria’s destruction of her garden.

My gut lurched as I saw our yard. Amy’s lovely flowerbed was gone, replaced by an army of the most hideous garden gnomes I’d ever seen.

I stormed into the home, followed by Stephen.

She emerged in the hall, sporting her customary smug look and flawlessly coiffed hair that gleamed in the afternoon sun.

“That was Amy’s flowerbed, Mom! How could you do this to her?” Stephen snapped.

Gloria huffed and pursed her lips.

She needed to learn her lesson the hard way, and I was the perfect person to educate her.

I forced a charming smile, although my jaw ached from the effort. “You’re absolutely right, Gloria. The gnomes are lovely. You must tell me how much we owe you for them.”

That took her completely off guard. She stared in disbelief for a moment before her smirk returned full force.

I spent the evening estimating the cost of everything Gloria had damaged, including heritage rose plants, specialized tulip bulbs, and organic compost.

Gloria sauntered into our dining room the following evening like a peacock.

I welcomed her with a bright grin and gave her an envelope.

She enthusiastically opened it and found five crisp $100. However, her smile faded when she saw the itemized invoice beneath them.

“You destroyed something my daughter spent months creating. This is the cost of restoring it.”

True to her word, she arrived the following day with a check.

She didn’t say anything as she put her gnomes into her car, but her tight-lipped attitude spoke volumes.

We spent the next few weekends restoring her garden and making it even more beautiful than before.

When we finished replanting the garden, Amy stood back to observe our efforts, tears in her eyes.

Gloria has become noticeably quieter since then, and I’ve observed she thinks twice before making her customary comments.

The garden is blooming more gloriously than ever. Every bloom marks a modest win, not just over Gloria’s meanness, but also for the love that builds between a mother and her daughter, as steadfast and strong as the flowers Amy carefully planted.