Abigail’s POV
The lavender dress feels soft against my fingers as I hold it up facing the mirror.
Its flowing skirt and cinched waist give it an elegant simplicity, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine walking into the school dance in it.
The fantasy doesn’t last long, though.
I lower the dress and glance at the other options scattered across my bed.
None of them feel quite right, and I can't understand why.
“Abigail, did you try the red one yet?” Mom’s cheerful voice breaks through my thoughts as she steps into my room, carrying a steaming cup of tea.
“I don’t think red’s really my color,” I reply, slipping the lavender dress over my head as I carefully adjusting the straps.
“Nonsense,” she says, setting the mug on my dresser before coming to stand behind me.
Her hands
