She stepped closer.
“I’m your mother now. You’ll do what I say.”
I felt something in my chest tighten.
“You’re not my mother.”
That didn’t go well.
That night, I sat on the floor with the dress in my arms, crying quietly so no one would hear.
But I already knew.
I was going to wear it.
No matter what.
The next day was prom.
I got ready slowly.
Did my makeup the way my mom used to.
Curled my hair. Found an old clip she used to wear.
For the first time in a long time… I felt close to her again.
Then I opened the garment bag.
And everything stopped.
The dress was destroyed.
The seam ripped open.
Stains soaked into the satin.
Ink smeared across the bodice.
My hands started shaking.
