He nodded, his voice thick. “I couldn’t give you your mom. But I thought maybe I could let part of her go with you.”
I threw my arms around him. “I don’t hate it,” I choked out through tears. “It’s beautiful.”
On prom night, I wore it. For the first time in a very long time, I didn’t feel like I was missing something. I felt whole—like both of my parents were somehow right there with me, my mother woven into the fabric and my father in every single stitch.
Then, Mrs. Tilmot saw me.
She walked over slowly, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Well,” she said loudly, “if the theme was attic clearance, you’ve nailed it.”
The room went quiet.
“It looks like someone turned old curtains into a school project.”
My body froze. She even reached out toward the flowers. “What is this? Hand-stitched pity?”
“Mrs. Tilmot?” a calm, steady voice interrupted.
Everything shifted. Officer Warren stood behind her, accompanied by the assistant principal.
“You need to step outside,” the officer said.
“Over a harmless comment?” she snapped.
“This didn’t start tonight,” he replied. “We’ve received multiple reports about your targeted behavior.”
The assistant principal added firmly, “You were explicitly warned to stay away from Sydney.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Mrs. Tilmot looked around, but the atmosphere had changed entirely. People weren’t silent out of fear anymore; they were watching, fully aware.
