Brenda screamed, but my father only rested a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry it took me so long, Evie.”
On prom night, I didn’t wear pink tulle. My father had taken the ruined silk to a master seamstress. She couldn’t fully restore the dress, but she transformed the fragments and beads into a breathtaking modern jumpsuit with a vintage soul.
As I looked in the mirror, the midnight blue shimmering against me, I didn’t feel like an orphan. I felt like a girl loved by two parents—one who left me the silk, and one who fought to make sure I could still wear it.
Brenda was gone. Her “Live, Laugh, Love” signs were gone. And for the first time in years, the house finally felt like home again.
