On prom day, I carefully prepared myself, wearing soft makeup like my mother used to and placing one of her old hair clips in my curls. For the first time in years, I felt close to her again.

Then I opened the garment bag.

My heart stopped.

The dress was ruined.

The seams were torn, stains covered the fabric, and ink was smeared across the embroidery. Someone had tried to destroy the one thing that connected me to my mom.

Then Stephanie appeared in the doorway.

“Oh. You found it.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“You did this?”

She didn’t apologize. “I warned you. I wasn’t going to let you embarrass us.”

When I said it was my mother’s dress, she coldly replied, “She’s gone. You need to move on.”

Before I could respond, my grandmother walked in. She saw the dress, saw my face, and immediately said, “Get up. We’re fixing this.”

For two hours, she worked carefully, repairing every piece she could. The dress wasn’t perfect when she finished, but it was still beautiful.

That night, I wore it to prom.

When I came home, my dad looked at me and whispered, “You look just like her.”

For the first time, he stood up for me.

When Stephanie criticized the dress again, he finally said, “She honored her mother. I’ve never been prouder.”

And for once, he didn’t stay silent.