had sewn on myself after Teresa had snagged the dress during a fitting. I remembered the way my needle had dipped and turned, the small knot I had tied to secure the thread. There was no mistaking it; this was my daughter’s dress.
My hands began to shake uncontrollably, and I had to grip the doorframe to keep from collapsing. The woman watched me, her expression shifting from anxiety to a profound, heartbreaking empathy. The silence between us stretched, heavy with the weight of twenty years of unanswered questions. I
