Prom night was supposed to be something I’d just get through.
Smile when you need to. Keep quiet. Go home.
That was the plan.
But everything changed the moment I walked down the stairs.
I was wearing a dress I’d made myself, from the fabric of my father’s old military uniform.
Not because it was perfect.
Because it was his.
Every stitch had meaning. Every scrap of fabric held a memory I wasn’t ready to let go of.
He taught me to sew when I was younger. Back when life still felt… whole.
⏬️⏬️ Continued on the next page ⏬️⏬
