When the seamstress unzipped my daughter’s custom silk wedding dress, the champagne glass slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

“Do you regret becoming Raven again?” she asked.

I took her hand.

“I didn’t become Raven,” I said. “I became your mother without fear.”

Behind us, Daniel laughed while setting out lunch. No bodyguards. No threats. No white silk hiding pain.

Elena rested her head against my shoulder.

For twenty years, I had believed peace meant burying the woman I used to be.

I finally understood.

Dresses

Peace was knowing exactly when to let her rise.