I Sewed My Prom Dress From My Dad’s Work Shirts—They Laughed at Me, Until the Principal Took the Mic and the Room Fell Silent
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That was enough.
Afterward, my aunt found me. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.
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That evening, she drove us to the cemetery. The grass was damp, the sky turning gold. I crouched before Dad’s headstone, pressing my hands against the marble the way I used to press against his arm when I wanted him to listen.
“I did it, Dad. I made sure you were with me the whole day.”
We stayed until the light faded.
Dad never got to see me walk into prom. But I made sure he was dressed for it, anyway.
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