When Nicole shared the idea with Aunt Hilda, she expected her to laugh.
Instead, her aunt simply said, “Then let’s make it happen.”
Nicole barely knew how to sew, but Aunt Hilda promised to teach her.
That weekend, they spread Johnny’s shirts across the kitchen table along with an old sewing kit. The project took much longer than expected. Nicole cut the fabric wrong more than once and had to undo hours of work.
But Aunt Hilda never complained. She simply guided Nicole’s hands and reminded her to slow down.
Some nights Nicole cried quietly while sewing. Other nights she spoke out loud to her father as if he were sitting beside her.
Each piece of fabric held a memory.
The shirt Johnny wore on Nicole’s first day of high school when she was terrified.
The faded green shirt he wore while running beside her bike when she was learning to ride.
The gray shirt he wore the day he hugged her after her worst day of freshman year.
The dress slowly became more than clothing.
It became a story.
A story of a father’s love stitched into every seam.
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