They twirled around in them during fittings, giggling, dreaming of the big day.  But my mother-in-law, Wendy, never saw Sophie as family. “She’s not David’s real daughter,” she had said more than once. At dinner the weekend before, she made it clear — again — by giving Liza a bracelet and ignoring Sophie. “Family is blood,” she said coldly when I called her out. Against my better judgment, we stayed at her house the night before the pageant, since it was near the venue. I carefully hung both dresses in the guest room closet. The next morning