Back when the house still felt like home.
Before everything changed.
After he died, nothing felt the same.
The house became quieter—but not in a peaceful way.
I learned to stay out of the way. To speak less. To exist without being noticed.
So I worked on the dress at night.
Slowly. Carefully.
Like if I rushed, I might lose him all over again.
And when I finally finished it… I knew.
This wasn’t just something to wear.
It was the last piece of him I still had.
When I walked into the living room, they noticed immediately.
My stepmother looked at me like I had done something wrong.
My stepsisters exchanged looks and started laughing.
Not loud.
