She saw the dress. Saw me.
And something in her changed.
“Get up,” she said. “We’re fixing it.”
For two hours, she worked.
Hands shaking, but steady.
She scrubbed the stains.
Stitched the seam.
Did everything she could.
I just sat there, holding my breath.
When she finished, she held it up.
“Put it on.”
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was still hers.
That’s all I needed.
At prom, people stared.
Not in a bad way.
“You look amazing,” someone said.
“It was my mom’s,” I told them.
And for the first time that night…
I smiled for real.
When I got home, my dad was waiting.
He looked tired. Still in his work clothes.
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