“Mom.”
“Just one more, sweetheart.”
The old nickname nearly slipped out, but I caught it before it could hurt her. That word belonged to Mason. Only Mason.
The Maple boutique had a gown in the window I had already imagined on her. Ivory, soft, romantic. Hazel stood before the glass for a long moment before asking, in a voice I had not heard in a year, “Could I try the one in the window?”
The saleswoman looked her slowly up and down, her mouth tightening.
“That’s not going to work for you, honey. You’re too big.”
That was it. No kindness. No apology.
Hazel did not cry. She did not protest. She simply turned, walked out the door, and got into the passenger seat of my car. I followed, my hands trembling around the keys.
“Hazel, I am so sorry. I am going to go back in there and—”
