“You can’t seriously start a family war over a dress,” Diane said.
“A four-thousand-dollar dress.”
“It was an accident,” Dad said. “And honestly? Don’t be jealous, Nora. It doesn’t suit you.”
And that was the turning point.
“You can’t seriously start a family war over a dress,”
Jealous… Of what? I wasn’t eight, staring at the last slice.
I had bought that dress with my own sore feet and my own double shifts.
Valerie had wrecked it.
And somehow I was the one being told that wanting my own things respected made me small.
“Okay,” I said. “I think you should go.”
They left. Valerie didn’t even say goodbye.
Valerie had wrecked it.
That night, I photographed every inch of the damage.
Then I took screenshots of Valerie’s texts about the ruined dress, and found the receipt.
Once I had everything together, I opened my laptop.
A little over an hour later, I sent Valerie a text.
I went to bed calm for the first time in years.
Once I had everything together, I opened my laptop.
***
The next morning, someone pounded on my door hard enough to rattle the frame.
I opened it in my bathrobe.
Valerie stood on my welcome mat, shaking with rage.
“Have you lost your mind?!”
