The girls at prom laughed the moment they saw my dress. They called it old-fashioned, cheap, even embarrassing. What they didn’t know was that my dying grandmother had sewn every stitch herself. Then I found a hidden note in the lining and suddenly the entire room went silent.
The afternoon light slanted through the lace curtains of Grandma Evelyn’s sewing room.
I stood very still in front of the tall mirror, afraid that if I moved too quickly, the whole moment would slip away.
Grandma Evelyn knelt at my feet, pinning the hem of the blue dress with trembling fingers.
“Hold still, sweet girl,” she murmured. “Just one more stitch and you’ll be perfect.”
Grandma Evelyn knelt at my feet
“Grandma, you should be resting,” I whispered. “The doctor said—”
“The doctor says a lot of things.”
She gave a soft laugh that turned into a cough, and my chest tightened.
