I hadn’t touched that dress in thirty years.
It had been folded at the bottom of a storage box in the basement, wrapped in tissue paper so old it had gone translucent.
When Lily pulled it out last spring and held it up against herself in the basement light, something moved through me that I couldn’t name.
I hadn’t touched that dress in thirty years.
Not joy exactly, and not dread, somewhere uncomfortably between them.
“Mom,” she whispered. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”