“No.”
“Then stop doing extra work for someone who enjoys watching you bleed.”
I looked up. “You make that sound simple, Dad. I don’t know why she hates me.”
“It isn’t simple, hon,” he said. “It’s just still true. And I’ll speak to the school, don’t worry about that.”
I nodded.
“I don’t know why she hates me.”
***
A week before prom, he knocked on my bedroom door with a garment bag in one hand.
My heart started pounding before he even spoke.
“Okay,” he said. “Before you react, know two things. One, it’s not perfect. Two, the zipper and I are no longer friends.”
I sat up too fast. “Dad.”
“Wait. Slow down, don’t rip anything, Syd.”
But I was already crying.
“Before you react, know two things.”
He sighed. “Sydney, I haven’t even shown it to you yet.”
Then he unzipped the bag.
For a second, I just stared.
The dress was ivory, soft and luminous, with blue flowers curving across the bodice and tiny hand-stitched details near the hem.
I covered my mouth.
“Dad…”
He looked suddenly nervous. “Your mom’s gown had good bones, Syd. It needed some changing, obviously. Mom was taller, and she had very strong opinions about sleeves.”
I covered my mouth.
I stood up so fast my knees hit the bed frame.
“Dad, you made this from Mom’s wedding dress?”
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